


If I don't belong

by Jinxgirl



Series: If I don't belong series [1]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-09
Updated: 2018-07-15
Packaged: 2019-06-07 18:23:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 22,859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15225207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jinxgirl/pseuds/Jinxgirl
Summary: Immediately Post Chosen. While Faith is finding herself, Buffy is losing herself. They meet somewhere in the middle.





	1. Chapter 1

Faith didn't know where they were headed, once the few survivors of the Sunnydale war finally re-boarded the bus. In fact, although Giles was the driver, and usually one to always have a plan for the future or at least be engaged in diligently working towards making one, she was fairly sure he had no clear destination in mind, at least for today. It didn't matter to her. After everything, she was just along for the ride, wherever that happened to take her.

It still threw her a little, sometimes, to realize that she was actually part of something that could be called a team. A badass survivors' team, more of them than not now gifted with supernatural abilities of some kind, but still, Faith had never been a joiner, and she had long ago gotten used to being unwelcome in any kind of group. Growing up in Boston, surviving public high schools- what little she had attended of it- and definitely in prison, she had preferred to stay away from that kind of "we" mindset, preferring to watch her own back instead of relying on anyone else to have it. Or at least, that was what she had told herself, for so long that it almost seemed like truth. Being part of Buffy's team, actually invited in and tolerated, was still sometimes new and strange enough to not quite feel right.

In the past few days, enough shit had gone down that any remaining veiled or open hostility towards Faith from anyone, even Buffy herself, had faded or vanished entirely. Tolerance of her presence had become acceptance, even expectation. Still, even now some part of her held onto the persistent expectation that this could change at any time, with one fuck up on her part or shifting of mood from someone else's.

But for now, she was here, one of the remaining few. Tired, achy, her clothes ripped and stained with grime and blood, some of it her own, but definitely, shockingly, alive and present. She was beginning to suspect that she and Buffy both may have been cats in past lives, because they definitely were running through their share of should-be-deaths.

From her selected seat in the very back of the bus, Faith's eyes came to find and focus on Buffy, several seats ahead of hers and to her right. Of course, Buffy was sitting with her little sister, seeming to want to be close to her after it all. Maybe Buffy was still amazed and grateful for the kid's survival, given her lack of powers. Faith was herself; the kid was all right, all grown up from the brat she remembered from before. And Buffy didn't need to take in one more loss, not after whatever the hell crazy thing had been going on with her and Spike.

She noted the sisters' hands, loosely entwined, Dawn's head resting against Buffy's shoulder. She couldn't see either girl's expression, but she could read the trust and relaxed posture of Dawn's frame, the comfort she seemed to get from Buffy's closeness. Buffy, as usual, was more closed off, harder to read, but the brief squeeze she gave her sister's slightly larger hand showed a gentleness that was rare in this older, harder Buffy's gestures. It seemed obvious that towards Dawn, at least, the tension and hurt between them in the night of Buffy's banishment had been forgiven. Faith wasn't going to place any bets towards anyone else, victory over battle or not. She hadn't missed that when it was all done and over with, Buffy's super leap onto the bus bringing her back with the rest of the gang, Dawn had been the only person Buffy chose to hug, and no one else had made even an attempt of an affectionate gesture with Buffy herself.

Faith wasn't sure how much time passed before she noticed Dawn gently shifting away from Buffy, saying something to her that she couldn't quite hear over the low buzz of conversations around her. She had zoned out, lulled by her own weariness and the gentle movement of the bus beneath her, but she snapped back to attention when she saw Dawn stand, moving away from her seat with Buffy and sliding in beside Xander, where he sat alone, not very far from Faith in the back of the bus. She watched Dawn say something to him, softly enough that again she could not hear, and rest a hand on his leg for a moment before twining his fingers with hers, giving his fingers a squeeze in much the same manner that her sister had done with her. Faith observed Xander's bowed head come up, the slump of his shoulders straighten slightly as he turned to focus on her, giving her a small but genuine smile that nevertheless barely touched his remaining eye.

Right…Anya. Faith had almost forgotten that the ex-demon, and Xander's maybe-ex-girlfriend, had not been a part of the survivors. It didn't seem to have occurred to anyone else that Xander had kept himself apart as Faith herself had; only Dawn seemed to see his subdued demeanor.

Faith eyed them for a few more minutes, taking in the way Dawn's body tilted in towards him, the incline of her head and the tenderness of her expression, the way that Xander too seemed to soften and relax with her presence. She realized with faint amusement that she was witnessing what very much resembled the beginnings of a spark between the two, and maybe not for the first time.

Well, well. Little Dawnie had definitely grown up, though maybe only Faith and Xander had noticed or approved. Faith wasn't one to judge Dawn's choices or attractions by her age- she was what, sixteen, seventeen, to Xander's 22, and that, compared to the usual age difference in her sister's relationships, was basically nothing at all.

With a small smile and shake of her head, Faith turned her attention back to Buffy, in the wake of her sister's departure. With her sister's presence and attention absent from her, Buffy seemed to have let down her tightly guarded emotional shields, just enough for Faith to recognize the slight shift in her demeanor. Buffy's posture had slumped, her head coming to rest heavily against the window of her seat, and though her eyes were not closed, they were heavily lidded, her hands in tight fists on her thighs. She probably assumed that no one noticed, and she was probably right, with the exception of Faith. When it came to Buffy, Faith always noticed.

Without letting herself overthink the decision, Faith stood, making her way down the aisle, and settled herself in the empty seat in front of Buffy, turning around on her knees to face her as she leaned her elbows on the back of the seat. Sitting beside her had seemed too invasive of Buffy's mood, and definitely of her personal space, even though things had changed between them.

It had been a pretty gradual thing, the shift of their relationship- whatever that happened to be, and hell if Faith had ever really known. With the discovery of the scythe, and the brief conversation after, there had been a tentative truce of sorts, a laying down of any verbal and physical assaults. Faith had assumed it was a temporary kind of peace, driven by the end of the world approaching, her recent near death, and the fact that, as Buffy most preferred, her plan of action had been wrong, whereas Buffy's had been right. That, she figured, was enough to mellow Buffy in her attitude towards her for at least a day or two, especially considering that ever since coming back to Sunnydale, Faith hadn't tried to kill anyone non-evil, not even once.

But the tentativeness of their truce had changed in the Sunnydale battle, in the moment that Buffy had handed Faith the scythe. As Faith had looked into Buffy's eyes, she had seen past the physical pain and despair from her clearly serious injury- seen the trust, the full expectation that Buffy had for her. She had not just hoped, but known that Faith would go on for her, should Buffy be unable, to be the leader that she had been. She had looked at Faith as finally good, and good enough, to be able to replace her. Faith had physically felt the change between them in that moment, a near physical jolt of connected energy and trust.

That hadn't changed, since the battle, even with all the chaos and adrenaline during and in the aftermath. It wasn't as pronounced, and it had not been voiced, but Faith somehow knew that the trust, the expectation, was still there. She was terrible with defining words, worse with feelings, but she knew for the first time with certainty that Buffy wasn't judging her or hating her, wasn't holding back the urge to hit her or expecting her to screw up or betray her. . They might not be friends, exactly, but they were comrades in battle, equals in a way Faith had never felt that Buffy viewed her before.

Now, they were both literally in the same place, headed to the same destination, wherever that might be. They were both tired, dirty, steeped in their own blood and the strange feeling of victory and loss all at once. They were both too in the present to be stuck on things of the past.

Still, that didn't mean Faith was going to push it by actually sitting next to her uninvited.

"Hey," Faith greeted her, going for the simple approach. "Pretty sure that's one stain that's never coming out."

She nodded towards the large bloodstain on Buffy's white shirt, now dried to the point of stiffness. As though noticing it for the first time, Buffy blinked, then touched it gingerly, not flinching despite the contact with the stab wound beneath.

"Unfortunate, since I'm pretty sure the only clothes any of us happen to own at the moment are the ones on our back," Faith continued, when Buffy gave no verbal response. "I have a feeling a shopping trip is definitely soon in our horizons. Whenever that comes, just keep me far away from the Potentials and their Hello Kitty type selections and I'll be good."

When this failed to get a sarcastic response, or even a weak smile, Faith sighed, adjusting herself to a more comfortable position on her seat. She was opening her mouth to try again, just to fill the silence, when Buffy suddenly spoke.

"Your arm is bleeding."

She nodded towards a large cut in the sleeve of Faith's jacket, heavily streaked with darkening blood. Faith glanced at it, giving an experimental touch with her other hand, and then shrugged, turning her attention back to Buffy.

"Nah, it's almost stopped. You're the one who got the serious skewering. How you got up from that is beyond me."

As casual as they sounded, the words were somewhat prodding, a gentle effort on Faith's part to ask about just what, if Buffy knew, had pushed her back on her feet and into the chaos of the fight once more, when Faith had been almost certain she was done for. Was it some kind of vision, some kind of surge of strength that only Buffy Summers, Super Slayer, could have summoned? If that was the case, that spark of renewed power seemed sapped from her now, and Buffy just looked somehow faded, almost frail, her once bottle blonde, carefully styled hair lank around her shoulders, her cheekbones sharp. Faith had noticed from the first day of her return to Sunnydale how Buffy had lost weight, her always toned frame now all sharp collarbones and sinewy muscle, but this was the first time that she had seen her as genuinely small.

Buffy didn't answer Faith's comment, nor did she shift her eyes up to look into Faith's face. Faith frowned, uncomfortable and growing increasingly concerned at the other woman's lack of animation or response. Where were the barbed comebacks she was accustomed to, whether genuinely holding anger or just playful sarcasm? Where was the steely assurance that had always defined Buffy in Faith's view?

Spike. That had to be it. Faith would never understand Buffy's apparent thing for vampires, or how she happened to fall into relationships and "relationships" with them, or how exactly the sex thing worked, exactly. How was it that guys without a beating heart could somehow summon up enough blood flow to get an erection, let alone keep it long enough to bring a girl coming back for more? Faith would always have a love and gratitude for Angel, and Spike had been kind of cool, for an undead dude with enough of a complex to actually seek out the return of his soul. Still, the sex thing? Even with Faith's admittedly bad track record in sexual choices, that wasn't one she'd ever played with herself.

Still, Buffy and Spike had history, crazy as it was, and obviously some level of feelings too. Maybe that accounted for the lifelessness Faith was watching, more than Anya or the baby Slayers or the gaping wound in her side.

"Sorry about Spike," she blurted, her words kind of rushed and blurred together, to get the words out in the air and over with. "That sucks, but…I guess it was what he wanted, right? To be the hero? He did kind of have a measure-up-to-Angel complex, but he kinda outdid him this time."

Kinda like Faith herself, when it came to Buffy. But she wasn't about to blurt that out, when she'd said far too much already. Faith had never been great with the apologies, even those that were more based on social niceties. She'd had a little too much practice, in the last few years, at those based on her own fuck ups and betrayals, but still, they weren't getting any easier or less awkward, and this one was no exception.

She waited for Buffy to tell her to shut up, or something harsher, to inform her in some Buffy-like, self-righteous way that Faith knew nothing about Spike, or Angel, or Buffy, that she had no right to try to sympathize or empathize with her pain. However far they might have come, she still wasn't sure just where the limits to this very new trust came about. But Buffy surprised her.

Turning her head towards her, just enough for Faith to see the flatness in the surface of her eyes, Buffy looked up at her, shifting slightly in her seat.

"I didn't love him," she said quietly. "I told him that I did, in the end, but it wasn't true, and he knew it. I didn't love him, but there was something there. I guess now I'll never really know exactly what."

Faith's brow furrowed slightly as she tried to think of what to say. Like the apology thing, she wasn't great with talking feelings, and the last thing she wanted to do was say the wrong thing to Buffy, just when she was starting to talk to her, to say something real.

Buffy didn't seem to notice her pause. She shifted again, and the numbness of her gaze eased. She relaxed her expression, giving a small twitch of a smile, but Faith could see that it was forced, an effort rather than a true gesture.

"I thought you were going to sleep for a week. You seem pretty alert and talkative to me."

"Eh, I've slept way too much lately," Faith shrugged, keeping her tone light, in an effort to match Buffy's. "Between the mystical coma mojo and the bombing, I'd probably better stay up a while. You never know, try to sleep now and I might never wake up."

"I don't know, that might not be such a bad thing," Buffy said softly.

Faith's eyebrows shot up, stiffening with her assumption that Buffy was indicating she would be less than devastated at Faith's death. But again Buffy surprised her when she completed her thoughts aloud.

"It might be nice, to just go to sleep and not wake up. Peace and quiet at last, no suffering. Just being finished, finally."

Faith's raised eyebrows lowered slowly, but her expression didn't relax. She felt her heartbeat quicken, her chest getting tight with her growing wariness of Buffy's comment, her very demeanor. What exactly did she mean, being finished? Finished with being a Slayer? Or finished with life, period?

She watched her, waiting for Buffy to crack a smile and roll her eyes, to indicate some of the light-hearted, slightly ditzy, if in deep denial, sort of comments she might have made several years ago, something that would defuse the implications of what she had said. But Buffy said nothing further. She turned her face back towards the window, seeming finished now with her words too, but Faith couldn't just leave them, suspended in the air.

"What do you mean, go to sleep and not wake up, being finished? You talking about dying? It would be nice to die? 'Cause it seems to me like we just went to a whole hell of a lot of effort to make sure that didn't happen."

Buffy's eyes slid back towards her, but her face remained pointed towards the window. Her lips smiled, but again, Faith could see that it was a gesture more than a true expression.

"Of course, Faith. That's what we do, isn't it? Save the world. Save people's lives. Some of them, anyway. I'm just saying, it would be nice to have a break."

When Faith just stared at her, eyes narrowing as she attempted to determine the seriousness of the other girl's previous response, Buffy slid a little bit further down into her seat, not meeting Faith's eyes with hers.

"I'll take the opportunity now, for a break. I'm going to get some sleep, while I can. You may have changed your mind on that, so I'll take your slot for the resting."

Buffy closed her eyes then, her head leaned against the window at what looked like a distinctly awkward and uncomfortable angle to Faith. Faith watched her for the next couple of minutes, not yet turning around in her seat, and Buffy's eyes remained closed. But although Buffy held still and silent, showing all the implications of a napping state, Faith noticed that her chest rose and fell too quickly and unevenly to indicate true rest, and her hands occasionally twitched on her lap. Buffy was a lot of things, avoidant being one of them, but she had never been a good actress.


	2. Chapter 2

They were still somewhere in California and had switched drivers three times before it became necessary to stop for the day. At some point in time that could not be determined, Robin had taken a turn for the worse, perhaps even sooner; to Faith’s shock and growing, discomforting guilt, everyone seemed to have assumed, after she herself had checked him immediately after the battle, that having got himself on the bus, he was merely quiet or sleeping, rather than seriously injured. Faith herself had assumed; how else could he have summoned the humor and energy to surprise her with his sudden “resurrection?”

But Andrew, of all people, nosy and intrusive as he was, had been the first to notice when he addressed Robin with some complaint about Kennedy. When he received no signs of acknowledgement from Robin, nor did the man awaken when Andrew leaned forward in his seat to shake his shoulder, Andrew had panicked, shouting in the high-pitched voice that had annoyed Faith on so many occasions.

“He’s dead, oh my god, Robin died! I thought we were done with the dying, but it’s followed us, it will never let us go!”

Of course, once the panicked intial flurry of the Potentials (now actual Slayers, but that Faith was pretty sure they’d always be Potentials in her own head) had died down and someone (Willow) had gone to check for herself, it had been determined that Robin was in fact not dead, but rather unconscious, and probably had been for some time. The focus then had become locating the closest hospital, getting his large and rather heavy frame inside the emergency doors, and explaining away both his stabbed, unconscious condition and the dirty, rather bloodied condition of all abundance of young girls and three men accompanying him. Xander and Giles had been deigned as the ones to struggle to get him into the hospital on their own; although any of the Slayers could have easily carried him, they were attracting quite enough attention as it was without a girl in her teens or early twenties and not cracking the 110 pound marker carrying a man almost twice her size and weight. 

It was decided by hospital staff pretty quickly that Robin would need to be checked in for the night, and in fact was in serious enough condition to be taken into intensive care. Although Buffy had the most serious injury after Robin’s, she had refused when Faith, Willow, and Giles all separately advised her to get it checked out, each time covering her side protectively as though to hide it from their view.

“I’m fine,” she had insisted, and Faith had looked for the uplifting of her chin, the stubborn steeliness she was accustomed to, and been further concerned when she did not see it. “Slayer healing. They should focus on Robin, not me.”

In the end, when one of the girls had heard hospital staff start talking about notifying the police and possibly child welfare, they had all rushed out about as quickly and inobtrusively as twelve people driving a school bus were capable of. Faith had done a head count both boarding and reboarding the bus, determining just who of everyone had survived, and the list was pathetically small. Herself, Buffy, Xander, Willow, Willow’s girl Kennedy, Vi, Rona, Shannon, Cha-Ahn, Giles, Dawn, and inexplicably, Andrew, along with Robin Wood. Considering how many people had once been packed into Buffy’s house, the death toll had been extreme. 

And she couldn’t be so sure that Robin Wood wouldn’t be soon to join them. Why the fuck hadn’t she checked on him sooner? 

 

88

The group found and checked into a fairly sketchy-looking motel room not more than a few miles from the hospital. Giles had said that they may have been able to afford a pricier arrangement, but they couldn’t guarantee that the staff or those staying there would be as likely to turn a blind eye to people of their number and description showing up and wanting to stay for an undetermined amount of time without some kind of questions and suspicions. The motel was off the main road enough that the rather conspicuous school bus parked at its side may go unnoticed, and out of the eight rooms the place boasted, six of them were vacant, just enough for the twelve to each have a room to share with one other person. 

The pair-ups happened quickly, and with such automatic nature that Faith quickly felt out of the loop and somewhat lost. Kennedy and Willow, Vi and Rona, Xander and Giles, Shannon and Chao-Ahn naturally drew together. That left four people with two rooms, and when Faith saw who was her likely partner, she put her hands out in front of her in automatic protest at Andrew’s overly eager response. 

“Oh, hell no, this is so not happening. I’m not about to spend my night with Candid Camera Ken doll.”

She looked over at Xander and Giles, as the only other available males, for back up, and possible offers of a trade. She’d take a room with Xander over freakin’ Andrew any day, hell, she’d take one with Giles, weird as that might be. But neither man showed any sign of wanting to step up to the task, not that she could blame him. 

Andrew pouted, crossing his arms over his chest, and looked to the other men as well. “Well, I’m just a little bit anxious that Faith might kill me in her sleep, because she does have a history of stealing my food, and the last time she threatened me, I’m pretty sure she was seriously, like, making a plan of action complete with maps, so if we’re all going to share, I’m just going to stake a claim now for the bed with Xander, because Giles snores.”

“I do not snore,” Giles protested, simultaneous with Xander’s hurried exclamation. 

“I kind of have strict sleeping requirements, and one of those is that I do NOT share a bed with other guys. Well, there was that one time, but that was kind of an exception, and anyway-“

“Oh, this is so stupid,” Dawn interrupted, rolling her eyes and sighing loudly, seemingly completely exasperated with the older group’s antics. “I’ll share with Andrew, if it’s such a big deal to everyone. If I survived the apocalypse, I’ll survive that.”

She narrowed her eyes at Andrew, fixing him with a rather scary expression that Faith immediately noted must be genetic among the Summers women.

“Don’t even think about any perving around, though. You stay on your side of the room, and I stay on mine. Just remember that I can totally kick your ass if I have to.”

“O-okay,” Andrew breathed, his face twitching slightly. “Got it.”

As Faith slowly worked out just what this arrangement meant, Dawn turned to her sister, who had been standing silently, arms crossed over her chest, observing but possibly not registering this exchange. She touched her shoulder, addressing her softly.

“Is that okay with you, Buffy? If you really want me to stay with you tonight…”

Faith tensed, assuming at first that the younger girl was implying that Buffy would clearly not be okay with sharing a room with Faith, out of all the others. Hell, Faith herself assumed that. But when Dawn didn’t even glance towards her, focused on Buffy, she let herself consider another possibly, that the younger Summers woman simply wanted to make sure that Buffy didn’t just want or need to be with her sister after everything. Maybe it was possible, that Dawn, along with everyone else, really had come around that much in regards to Faith. 

 

Faith waited for Buffy to shake her head, telling Dawn to stay with her, which would obviously mean she’d have to bully or command one of the potentials into sharing with Andrew instead. But Buffy shrugged instead, seeming completely apathetic to Dawn’s decision. 

“I’m fine, Dawn. It’s fine.”

Dawn nodded, giving Buffy a smile that Faith noted was much more genuine than those her sister had been showing. When she leaned in to hug Buffy, Buffy’s arms came up slowly to hug her back, and her embrace was brief, without force. 

“I’ll see you in the morning, then, okay? I love you.”

“I love you,” Buffy replied, but the words seemed automatic, lacking emotion in their tone. Her arms immediately recrossed when her sister pulled back, and didn’t come down again as Faith came forward.

“Looks like it’s you and me then, B,” she commented, and Buffy nodded, giving no verbal response. Faith let out a sigh under her breath, then, raising up the room key for Buffy to see, nodded towards the battered door corresponding. 

“Here we are, then. Back to living the high life.”

The setting was all too familiar to Faith. She had lived in shabby, rather grim motels when she first came to Sunnydale, and that hadn’t been something she was unaccustomed to even then. Growing up in Boston with two alcoholic parents, she had quickly grown used to shuttling between crappy apartments and motel rooms every time her parents skimped on rent for one month too many and got themselves evicted, again. She was used to drab, peeling wallpaper, furniture with initials and swear words gouged into their surfaces, and sheets you had to check for suspicious stains before being brave enough to settle under them. Mold in the shower, bugs under the bed, and overly squashy or overly hard mattresses were par for course, and in fact, a step up from the prison life she had bore out for the past three years. 

But the Buffy she remembered definitely wasn’t. Her bedroom had changed from the little-girl knick knacks and décor from their teenaged years, and Faith had only spent a very limited amount of time in it, most of it while unconscious. Still, she’d been there and in Buffy’s house enough to know that Buffy was very used to clean and tastefully arranged rooms, to comfortable bedding and bathrooms that could be counted on to properly work. It was years back, but she hadn’t missed then and still remembered now the looks of pity and unsuccessfully smothered shock, each time Buffy visited Faith’s motel dwellings. 

This motel was as expected- beaten, stained carpet that Faith noted was not something she wanted to walk on in bare feet, badly weathered paint on the walls, a television at least twenty years old, and a bathroom door partly open, since it was half hanging on its hinges. But what she hadn’t expected was the single queen sized bed, directly in the center of the room. Then again, this kind of joint was likely most often paid for by the hour rather than the night. It wasn’t like they had the need to invest in two beds, for most of its customers. 

Faith sighed inwardly, waiting for Buffy’s reaction not just to the bed, but to the room itself. But the other woman gave no indication that she found the room or the arrangements not to her personal taste. She just dropped herself on the edge of the bed, the mattress dipping slightly under her weight, and rolled her shoulders, attempting to ease muscles that were no down drawn tight.

So, Buffy had already claimed the bed. Faith hadn’t expected otherwise, but still, it sucked to think of sleeping on the floor. Somehow she doubted a place like this had any cots stored away for guest usage. Her muscles were actually twitching occasionally with the need for rest, and it seemed forever since she had had guaranteed access to a bed, no matter how shitty, rather than a place somewhere on the floor of Buffy’s house. More floor time with far worse blankets for the night was gonna suck. Still, it was better than sleeping on a bus, and way better than sleeping with fucking Andrew. 

“I’m guessing you’re gonna want the bed, right?” Faith went ahead to get the claim over with and spoken for, nodding towards Buffy in her seated position. 

She expected Buffy to nod, at the very least, maybe to come up with a snarky reply of some kind. But so far, none of her expectations of Buffy today had come through. The other girl just looked up at her somewhat blankly, her brow furrowed. She didn’t seem to have heard what Faith had said.

“Huh?” 

Taking a step forward, Faith pointed her chin in the direction first of the bed’s headboard, then towards Buffy, crossing her arms over her shoulders with sudden self-consciousness of what she was saying. Fuck if she knew why she felt it. Something about Buffy’s lack of predictability today, of her lack of being…Buffy…was just unsettling. 

“There’s only one bed,” Faith spelled out to her. “One bed, two of us. From what I remember, you’re not all that big on the sharing when it comes to me. And you sat on it first. So I’m guessing you’re staking your claim.”

Faith could see the far-off look in Buffy’s eyes fade, her pupils coming back into focus as she looked back at Faith. Her eyes narrowed, and she sat up a little straighter, a hint of the prideful, irritated Buffy that she was more accustomed to coming back into her mannerisms as she responded.

“The girl you remember is not the girl I am now,” she said, her voice measured, almost flat. “I’m not even the girl I was two days ago, so don’t go by memories of ancient history when it comes to your perception of me.”

She sighed, the tension in her face easing just slightly.

“I’m tired, Faith. Aren’t you?” 

She seemed to be asking two questions at once, and Faith was not oblivious to this. It wasn’t just a physical need for rest that Buffy was talking about, but something deeper, a tiredness that she carried inside, to her core. 

Faith hesitated, then gave a slow nod in answer. She was, sometimes, though not nearly as often or as desperately as she had once been. Sometimes, now, she felt that she was finally waking up from that overwhelming inner weariness of life, that she was beginning not just to distantly hope for some kind of future, but to fight for one, to believe it could really happen.

But Buffy hadn’t asked for an explanation from her, and she hadn’t offered one. That, nor a denial from Faith, didn’t seem to be what she needed. So Faith nodded, as much to show an understanding of what Buffy was saying as because it was true. 

“Yeah,” she said, exhaling. “Yeah, of course. I just figured-“

“We’re both tired,” Buffy interrupted her, lifting her chin with something like defiance in the gesture. “We’re grown women, and things are different now than they’ve ever been before. I think we can both share a bed for one night without shedding any blood or having bullshit drama over it by now.” 

Faith blinked, taken aback not so much by the words, but at the casual use of “bullshit” that Buffy had thrown into them. The Buffy she was used to was far too uptight for cursing. Her respect for Buffy, already high, raised up a notch as she nodded again, accepting. 

“Yeah, all right. Got it.”

When Buffy said nothing further, seeming to see the matter as now closed, Faith cleared her throat, jerking her head towards the bathroom door a bit awkwardly. 

“You can have first shower if you want. I’m not gonna place any bets on hot water, and you’re gonna pick up athlete’s foot from the tub surface, more likely than not, but hey, Slayer healing works fast, right?”

She didn’t expect a laugh or a smile, not at this point. Still, it bothered her when Buffy just nodded, hauling herself up from the bed and shuffling towards the uneven bathroom door. Faith tried to determine if she were limping or showing pain from the stab wound, but if Buffy was hurting, she was skilled at hiding it. 

It surprised her when Buffy didn’t try to shut the bathroom door, just dropped her filthy clothes in a heap beside it without bothering to check that Faith wasn’t looking in her direction. Faith couldn’t say she wasn’t tempted to sneak a peek- to check out the physical damage Buffy’s body had taken on, over the past few years, and to get a look at any other changes as well for more personal reasons than injury checking. But at the thought of Buffy’s reaction, if she were to get caught, she averted her eyes, instead sitting cross-legged on the squashy bed’s blanket and flicking on the TV. 

Periodically Faith glanced towards the open bathroom door, unable to resist her urge to monitor Buffy. Not out of any kind of creepy perve reason- four or five years ago, maybe, but she was past that now. The First had been right about a thing or two, her desire for Buffy to love her being one of the most uncomfortable ones. Back then, it had been a driving force for a lot of things she did, a wish bordering on desperate and definitely not one that was ever going to have the sort of results she hoped for. Buffy had that effect on people, dead and undead, and Faith had been just one of the victims- and the one Buffy had seemed most oblivious to, when it came to the effects she had on her. 

But that was then. Faith had come to terms with a few things, Buffy and whatever futile draw towards her she had being one of them. It was never gonna happen then, and there wasn’t a snowball’s chance in hell it would happen now. Faith herself couldn’t say she’d go with it, even if Buffy got brain damaged enough to actually make an offer. There was far too much she could lose out of that, and far too much damage to what bit of self esteem she’d managed to scrape together. If Buffy would actually go for that kind of thing, there was no way she wouldn’t be picturing someone else in place of Faith, and Faith was finally, sort of, starting to recognize, and actually try to avoid, situations where she was being used. 

No, the whole monitor-Buffy instinct was coming from the way Buffy had been behaving, and not just since the battle. There had always been a feeling of protectiveness Faith had towards her, even at her most homicidal, when bitterness and self-hatred had been twisted into her self-delusion that she actually hated Buffy. After their miraculous survival, and especially in light of Buffy’s comments and lifeless behavior on the bus, Faith’s sometimes reluctant sense of protectiveness had become outright concern. 

It wasn’t like she actually thought Buffy was going to hang herself with a moldy shower curtain, or drink a tiny, cheap packet of motel shampoo. But still, it seemed smart to keep an ear out.


	3. Chapter 3

Faith had expected Buffy to fully take advantage of the opportunity for a shower, no matter how crappy the experience was compared to other showers available in the world. She had figured Buffy would likely use up all the soap and shampoo, what limited qualities were available, and had already resigned herself to a very cold shower with terrible water pressure. Still, it would beat prison showers, since presumably, she would at the very least be able to expect that no one would attempt to stab her with a skiv or feel her up. But Buffy was again surprising in her actions. It was only about twenty minutes when Faith heard the water turn off, and the faint sounds of Buffy stepping out and going through the motions of drying herself and her hair with the threadbare towels available. 

Faith averted her eyes, sternly commanding herself not to flush when Buffy reemerged into the room, clad only in a rather short and skimpy towel. Still, her hands unconsciously gripped the blanket of the bed, and she took a quick breath in and out as Buffy addressed her. 

“Shower’s free.”

Faith nodded acknowledgement, standing and making her way past Buffy towards the now vacant bathroom. Buffy didn’t move aside to give her more room to pass by, and it was Faith who had to turn sideways in an effort to avoid touching her. She couldn’t help a quick glance towards the other woman, and she noted the tight muscles of Buffy’s calves and thighs, the prominence of her collar bone above the towel and the clearly diminished size of her breasts, as no cleavage showed even with the smallness of the towel. Buffy’s hair still dripped slightly down her back, and when she moved it over one shoulder, Faith could see the wings of her shoulder blades, showing more clearly than she could remember from before. 

While time and increased work outs in prison had filled Faith out, adding to her already natural curvy, muscular frame, the past few years seemed to have whittled Buffy into the bare essentials of size. Faith wondered with some reluctance just how often the woman remembered or bothered to eat, and how many hours of sleep she could manage or allow for herself. How long had it been since she actually took care of herself, or since someone else had noticed that she wasn’t? 

It wasn’t her damn business, not if Buffy didn’t make it her business. If none of her friends were handling it, or if Buffy wouldn’t let them in enough to try, then she sure as fuck wasn’t going to let Faith. 

Faith made her way into the bathroom, wrinkling her nose at the damp puddles in stained tile that Buffy’s footprints had left on the floor and the yellowed hue of the toilet and sink. Still, she’d been right, it was a step up from some of her previous “homes,” so she set out a towel as a makeshift bath mat and stepped up into the shower, testing the water pressure and temperature before turning on the shower. 

The water was cold, as she had expected, but she didn’t think it was Buffy’s fault, given the limited length of her shower. Nevertheless, Faith closed her eyes, enjoying the feel of the dirt and blood loosening and sloughing off her skin and out of her hair. She took her time, using the tiny shreds of soap and few ounces of shampoo available to the maximum benefit, until every last bit was down the drain. Feeling much more alert and alive when she at last determined herself somewhat clean, she turned the water off with some reluctance, stepping out onto the towel and beginning to dry herself off. 

It wasn’t until she was mostly dry that she realized a problem now presented. Her battle clothes were still filthy and stiff from the day’s grueling events, yet they were the only clothing at the moment that she had in her possession. She didn’t relish the thought of putting those clothes on her now clean body. What exactly was she supposed to sleep in?

Wrapping herself in a towel, she stuck her head out the bathroom door, quickly seeing that Buffy seemed to be facing the same issue. The girl was still standing in her own towel, but her attention was now focused with clear distaste on her discarded, equally disgusting clothing. 

Faith raised her eyebrows, then cleared her throat, obtaining the other girl’s attention. As Buffy looked up at her, half turning to face her, Faith became newly aware of the fact that both of them were clad only in towels, and not standing so very far away from each other either. Biting down hard on the inside of her lips to keep from making the automatic sexually charged jokes that immediately rose to mind, she instead nodded towards Buffy’s clothes, giving a somewhat uncomfortable smirk. 

“I’m gonna go ahead and guess that with all the prepping for battle, none of us actually remembered to prep for possible survival, with things like toothbrushes and deodorant and, like, some kind of clothes that aren’t crusted in bodily fluids?”

Buffy sighed aloud, her head inclining in a reluctant nod.

“I’m pretty sure that’s accurate. At least on my part.”

“Hey, if you wanna go knocking on Giles’s door or one of the Potentials to check if they happened to carry along some spares, be my guest,” Faith offered, this time allowing herself permission to zero her gaze pointedly to Buffy’s towel. “It’s gonna be amusing, given your current attire and all, so don’t blame me if I watch at the window.”

Buffy sighed again, rolling her eyes, and didn’t dignify the comment with an answer. She frowned slightly, appearing to be considering her options briefly, before she huffed aloud, turning her eyes back towards Faith. 

“Like I said, we’re both grown women. With all the shit I’ve lived through and as many times as I’ve been brought back to life when I didn’t, I’m pretty sure I can handle sleeping in my underwear for a night. If I’d stuck it out through college, there’d probably be a few drunken blackouts that weren’t so far off the mark from this anyway, so I’ll take it as a sample of the more normal craziness I missed out on. As long as you aren’t stricken by some overwhelming urge to molest me in my sleep, I think I can handle you sleeping in underwear too.” 

And before Faith could quite process this declaration or exactly what it was going to entail, Buffy was dropping her towel, standing not quite a foot away from her completely bare and apparently without any shyness or self-consciousness about the fact. Faith couldn’t stop her eyes from widening, her mouth dropping slightly, as Buffy turned her back on her, gingerly sifting through her clothing to fish out the bra and underwear she had just referenced. She dressed herself, still turned away from Faith, then shifted back towards her, lifting an eyebrow when she saw that Faith had not yet made a move to follow suit. 

“Unless you’re thinking a towel is more comfortable nightwear, and I’m going to have to disagree with you on that. I’m pretty sure the material just gave me a rash.”

“What? No, whatever, it’s your call, B,” Faith said hastily, giving a faint laugh that sounded a little hesitant to her own ears. “I’m good with whatever.”

Inwardly she flinched, noticing belatedly that the statement could definitely be taken in more ways than one, and she hadn’t intended to go there with Buffy. Not now, not today. But if Buffy saw the possibility, she ignored it, turning back to her clothes to kick them out of her way. She walked over to the bed, stretching out on one side atop the blanket and closing her eyes, perhaps as much to prove her lack of interest in Faith’s state of undress as because of her genuine tiredness. 

Faith paused another moment, making sure that Buffy wasn’t suddenly going to change her mind. Buffy made no gesture to speak up or stop her, so she slowly dropped her own towel, then retrieved her own underclothing, dressing herself with occasional glances in Buffy’s direction. The other girl remained still on the bed, her chest rising and falling slightly with her breaths, and when Faith was somewhat redressed again, she moved to join her on the bed slowly.

Every time she expected a mannerism or characteristic she remembered from the younger Buffy of her memories to surface, the Buffy of today managed to surprise her. Teenaged Buffy would have blushed and stammered at the very thought of being around Faith in her underwear, let alone actually sharing a bed in that state. Faith could not imagine any scenario where Buffy would be the one to initiate such a situation, let alone be the first to drop her clothes. She was pretty sure that even if dying of heatstroke in some abandoned desert, teenaged Buffy would have insisted on removing no more clothing that her socks and shoes. If that; teenaged Buffy might very well have worried about exposing less than perfectly manicured toenails. 

But Buffy showed no indication of concern or discomfort now when Faith sat on the edge of the bed, again less than a foot away from her. She didn’t even indicate awareness of her presence until Faith cleared her throat again, deliberately focusing her gaze on the wound at Buffy’s side. 

“It looks a little better. The stab wound. Still, you sure you don’t need to bandage it up again?”

Buffy’s hand drifted to touch it, giving no flinch despite the extent of the wound and the likely pain her touch would have caused. She opened her eyes, but didn’t turn her head towards Faith when she answered her.

“It isn’t bleeding anymore, there isn’t a need.”

“Nah, but it’s still more or less an open wound,” Faith pointed out. “You could get infected. And I’m pretty sure bedding in places like this is probably one of the top places where creepy diseases are likely to be spread around.”

Buffy’s hand drifted down to rest on a hip, and Faith noted with some discomfort just how much its bone jutted out in her supine position on the bed. Her ribs were more visible than she would have liked, too, and she quickly moved her eyes up to the safer area of Buffy’s face.

“I’ll take my chances,” Buffy replied, her voice sounding distant, even from only inches away. “Besides, I’m pretty sure this isn’t the kind of place where it’s really smart to go knocking on doors in your underwear.”

Faith chuckled at that, conceding the point. 

“Yeah, probably. But anyone stupid enough to mess with you, it’s not like you couldn’t kick their ass.”

“Yeah, but I don’t want to have to,” Buffy countered, her voice soft. “Not tonight. Maybe not ever, now.”

Faith regarded her, her brows knitting. This was yet another comment that didn’t sit well with her, one she didn’t know how to answer. She had never been the kind of girl who was good at giving pep talks or comfort, and she had enough history of mental issues herself to be able to pass judgment or give any kind of advice in that kind of thing in others. What the hell did she know, when it came to depression?

But that was what it sounded like, every time Buffy said something in that tone of voice, with that lack of caring or drive. That was what she saw in her diminished body and her expressionless face. Faith hadn’t shown it in the same way, that was for sure. But she was pretty damn familiar with how it felt to be depressed, to be unable to come up with a single reason to wake up to one more day or fight to get somewhere different in life. She was no doctor or shrink, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t see in Buffy the same bleak, encompassing feeling of darkness she’d lived in before, the same darkness that rose up in her sometimes even now, whenever she let down her guard. 

 

But how the hell did you come out and say that to someone, let alone to Buffy Summers? How do you warn her not to become anything close to yourself? 

So Faith slipped back into what was more comfortable for her- sarcasm, with something of a biting edge. 

“Hey, B, now we’ve got matching scars. Guess that’s how they’ll know we’re the originals. Or maybe it’s just karma.”

She waited for Buffy to roll her eyes, to make some snappy remark about Faith’s evil past and poor choices, or maybe, just maybe to smile. But Buffy just nodded, one small inclination of her head.

“Maybe. Seems to be a thing.”

Faith’s eyes drifted down to regard herself, taking in her own cut and bruised skin, mostly exposed in her current attire to Buffy’s view. She took in the damage with dispassion, satisfied that she was already healing, and there appeared to be no lasting damage. Nevertheless, she felt sore and achy in an acute, much more noticeable manner than before. All traces of adrenaline high from the battle that had managed to block out physical pain had finally left her system, and she felt heavier than the actual weight that her body took up in space. 

Not quite consciously, her hand moved to cover the scar at her stomach she had referenced. This, unlike the others, would never entirely fade, let alone heal into nonexistence. Faith’s own knife, the mayor’s gift, had gone in deep, Buffy’s stabbing intended to kill. She had nearly been successful, and for a time, Faith had wished she had been. 

She had wondered, once her feelings of hurt and betrayal had faded, if there had ever been a time, ever so briefly, where Buffy had regretted her actions, if she had ever felt even passing guilt. She hadn’t expected an apology- god knows, Buffy had never seemed to be able to admit she was wrong about anything, especially when it came to Faith. It didn’t seem all that likely to Faith that Buffy had; she had thought then, and probably still did now, that she had done The Right Thing, capital letters, that Faith had deserved death for the choices she had made. Still, it was a strange twist of fate that years later, Buffy would end up with a nearly identical scar, in the very same spot of the scar she had delivered upon Faith.

That didn’t mean that it was easy for Faith to look at, her own long-healed wound, fresh and mirrored back at her on Buffy’s skin. She took no enjoyment from it; in fact, it made her deeply uncomfortable. Buffy, she felt, unlike herself, didn’t deserve that kind of lasting mark.

When Buffy didn’t move her eyes back in Faith’s direction, nor did she speak again, Faith exhaled, feeling a need to break the silence. As much as she had thought she craved peace and quiet in prison, and even in Buffy’s house, Buffy’s quiet made her feel twitchy inside, uneasy. 

“Well, don’t know about you, B, but I’m beat. You can leave the light on if you want, but I’m pretty sure I could sleep through a rock concert in the corner, about now.”

When Buffy simply leaned over in response, reaching to switch off the light of the lamp on the nightstand near her, Faith took that to mean the other girl was ready for sleep too. Faith stood, pulling back the bed’s blanket on her own side, and flipped the light back on from her own nightstand’s lamp just long enough to inspect the sheets for suspicious stains or visible bugs. When she couldn’t see any obvious nastiness on their surface, she nodded wordless acceptance, then flipped the light back off, sliding beneath them and wriggling to settle herself back against the sheets. She pushed at the pillow a few times, trying to plump it up out of its flattened state, and then relaxed her body back, closing her eyes. 

Though her eyes were shut, she could sense the slight movements of Buffy standing beside her, then felt the slight coolness of the air as the other girl joined her under the blanket. The bed was large enough for each to have their own defined space, no need to touch or overlap, but Faith could nevertheless feel the heat of Buffy’s body close to her own, and without their actual touching, she was very much aware of the shape and presence of her beside her. 

“Night, B,” she said, after a moment’s debate. She kept her voice light as she continued, “Don’t let the bed bugs bite, ‘cause in this joint, that’s probably a real hazard we’ll be fighting.”

She didn’t really expect Buffy to answer, as uncommunicative as she had been throughout the day. But just as Faith felt herself on the very verge of sleep, she was pretty sure she heard the girl answer back, so softly she wasn’t quite sure she hadn’t imagined it.

“Good night.”


	4. Chapter 4

Faith would have assumed, fifteen minutes ago, that she would fall asleep almost immediately. But to the contrary, she had gained more awareness and wakefulness, the longer she remained still in bed, and the more she focused on attempting rest. Though her eyes felt hot and heavy with weariness, her mind remained alert and active in thought, and she was pretty sure- no, damn positive- that it was because of Buffy.

It wasn’t because the other girl was speaking, or making all that much noise. Her breathing was soft, if not quite even, and she didn’t touch Faith, or come near doing so. But she was awake, and didn’t seem to be making much of an effort to try not to be. Instead she continually shifted her position against the mattress and pillow, wiggling and pushing at the pillow or the blanket as though struggling to find herself a comfortable spot. She continually turned onto her side, then back to her stomach or back, but stayed in no positioning for more than a few minutes.

It was starting to drive Faith crazy. If Buffy didn’t want to sleep, that was her own business. But why did she have to make sure that Faith wouldn’t have a shot at it either?

Irritating as it was, though, Faith’s annoyance was tempered with concern. If anyone needed to sleep even more than she herself did, it was Buffy. What was keeping the woman up when she should have been far beyond the point of exhaustion? 

After twenty minutes of Buffy’s restlessness had passed, Faith opened her mouth, Buffy’s name on the tip of her tongue. She wasn’t planning ahead what to say- it could have been sharp and irritated, or it could have been questioning, showing her concern. It could have even been an offer to go sleep on the floor after all, as it dawned on her with all too familiar insecurity that it might be her close proximity that was keeping Buffy up. But before she could say whatever it was that was going to come out, Buffy spoke first.

“It’s too quiet in here.”

Faith opened her eyes with some reluctance, a sigh emerging in spite of her attempt to stifle it as she rolled onto her side to face Buffy. The woman’s face seemed pale in the room’s dimness, almost giving off a light, but her eyes were almost too dark for her to see the usual bright blue-green of their hue. 

“Well, you could try to turn on the fan, but knowing places like this, it’s probably broken.”

“I’m not used to quiet anymore,” Buffy said softly, ignoring Faith’s suggestion as though she hadn’t even heard it. “The house wasn’t quiet much, these past few years. My mom was sick, and I stayed in the hospital with her a lot. It was never quiet there. Then there were so many of us staying there, after. Willow and Tara, Dawn, and Spike and Xander and Anya were always around too. Someone was always up and doing something, there was always something, in the background. Then when all the Potentials came…”

She trailed off, expecting, perhaps, that Faith understood. Of course Faith did. She’d been staying in the same place, after all, and she knew exactly how loud it was when something like thirty or forty teenagers were sharing the same bathroom and floor space. 

“Makes your thoughts kind of loud, huh?” Faith commented. When Buffy nodded, just slightly enough for Faith to see, Faith gave her a small smile, hoping that Buffy would smile back. 

“What, you want me to sing you a lullaby or something?”

She didn’t get quite the smile she had hoped for, but she thought there were just a few less lines in Buffy’s forehead when Buffy rolled her eyes back at her.

“Yeah, no. We had enough singing going on last year, it was a whole demon thing, and knowing you, you probably would draw him right back for more.”

Faith watched her bite down on her lip, her voice growing softer. 

“It’s just that there’s so many less of us now. It’s…there’s almost no one left. Even the bus is too quiet, for what it should be.”

Faith didn’t try to joke about that. It wouldn’t feel right, because she understood and felt the same sense of loss, of uncomfortable responsibility, that Buffy seemed to be trying to convey. They had won, but the victory was somewhat hollow, when so many hadn’t lived to see the outcome. 

“I get it,” she said quietly. “I’m not great with the quiet, either. For sleeping. You kinda get used to background noise in prison, so it was a pretty easy adjustment to your place.”

Silence fell between them for several minutes, and Faith shifted with some discomfort, wondering if her mention of prison had crossed some sort of undefined line between them. Since her return to Sunnydale, Buffy had mentioned her stint of “evil” and “killing people” on a few occasions, but she had never mentioned or asked about Faith’s time in prison. Maybe it was something she didn’t want to know or didn’t care enough to know. If Angel had ever mentioned his visits, maybe that somehow rubbed Buffy wrong. Maybe she thought that he was giving Faith attention she didn’t think she deserved, some kind of reward. Resentment, maybe, that Angel continued a supportive relationship with Faith, in spite of what Buffy had thought or believed he should do. Whatever it was, it had remained an unspoken fact between them. Faith hadn’t even bothered to tell her about the attempt against her life, on behalf of the Bringers. 

She had started to think from Buffy’s stillness that she had finally gone to sleep, before the other girl’s quiet voice broke the silence. 

“Was it hard?”

When Faith looked back at her, raising an eyebrow in confusion, Buffy clarified. 

“Prison. You could have left, if you wanted to. But you stayed. I was just wondering….if that was hard for you, to stay.”

Faith considered, weighing her response. In the end she answered honestly. It was an honest question, an acknowledgement she had never expected to hear from the likes of Buffy.

“Sometimes, yeah. I thought about leaving a few times, especially at first. Just saying screw it, and running off, giving up and going my own way. But that was what I always did before, and that never worked out so great. And I had things to figure out, things I had to deal with and try and atone for, even if it didn’t seem like it was gonna ever be possible. But, well, it was what Angel said I should do, and he said I could do it, even when I felt like I couldn’t. And it was what you wanted, it was what you said was right. So I stayed.”

Faith shrugged, as though to dismiss the serious nature of the conversation as soon as the words had left her, to give them less weight. But even in the dimness of the room she could see the stunned look come into Buffy’s eyes. The girl’s lips parted, then closed, before she opened them again to respond, seeming to stumble over her words.

“What…what I wanted?”

“Well, yeah, B,” Faith answered, nodding, somewhat confused by Buffy’s reaction. “In LA, that’s what you said, that’s what you said you thought I needed to be, where I belonged. In prison. You said I had to pay for what I’d done, and you were right. So I went, and I stayed. Until Wes said Angel needed me, obviously. By then I figured I owed him more than I owed prison, and then when you needed me in Sunnydale, I owed you more than prison too. So…here I am.” 

She watched Buffy’s lips press into a thin line, a sheen of emotion Faith could not read crossing her eyes before the blonde turned her face away, just enough that Faith couldn’t fully see her expression. Faith’s brow furrowed as she regarded her, more puzzled than ever. What had she said that could have possibly hit Buffy wrong, by telling Buffy she was right? 

“Hey, I’m not trying to make you feel bad or anything,” she said finally. She propped herself into a half sitting position on one elbow, trying to get a better look at Buffy’s face. “Like I said, you were right, that’s where I needed to be, at least then. It wasn’t all that bad.”

She paused, honesty taking over again. “Okay, the food was about a step up from dog chow, and some of the guards were handsy, but I handled it, no problem. There wasn’t such a thing as privacy, the beds and showers sucked, and the movies they called a privilege sucked worse. There was the smell issue with all the women who don’t bother with brushing teeth or wearing deodorant, and some of them had serious gas issues. But most of them left me alone once they saw how much weight I could lift in the gym, and Angel always made sure I had commissary money, so it was all five- all right,” she corrected herself. 

A few sporadic episodes of a prison therapist had changed one thing, anyway, and that just happened to be borrowing her father’s favorite phrase, especially since she’d never really used it honestly to begin with. 

When Buffy still didn’t respond, Faith continued uncertainly. Maybe Angel had told her something that Faith hadn’t, although she didn’t think he was the type to betray conversations had in confidence. Or maybe Willow had said something, though that didn’t seem all that likely too. What the hell was bothering Buffy, then? 

“I got through, B, not even a scratch. There was the attempted murder thing, but hey, that’s kind of the Slayer lifestyle. Overall I’ve lived in worse places, and it gave me space to work on the shit I needed to work on.” 

Still nothing from Buffy; Faith could barely breathe. Unable to stand her unresponsiveness any longer, Faith exhaled in a near huff. 

“Okay, Buffy, what? What the hell did I say?” 

 

Buffy kept her face turned away, but Faith could see just enough of her profile to observe her eyes shut for several seconds, her face tensing up, then slowly easing before she spoke.

“I thought I killed someone, once. Before I met you.”

Faith blinked, somewhat taken aback. Multiple questions came to mind, but she held back, just barely, waiting for Buffy to go on. Instinct told her that Buffy might not continue, if she were to cut her off before she’d said what she wanted to say.

“It was a guy my mom was dating,” Buffy murmured after a few more moments, her chest rising and falling with an uneven breath. “He was…I didn’t like him. Almost hated him, you could say. He was…I thought he was controlling, and manipulative, and I didn’t like my mom…I wasn’t ready. For her to see someone. She and my father had just been divorced for a little over a year, and…”

She sighed again, swallowing. “We were arguing, and he hit me. I hit him back, and I…I just didn’t stop.”

Faith found that she was almost holding her breath, wanting to know the end result of this story. Buffy had never been one to disclose much about herself, not even to her supposed best friends, from what Faith had been able to discern. This was a rare moment, one she wasn’t quite sure she understood. Even as she appreciated this, a part of her wondered with some resentment just why it was that this of all stories was one she had never been informed of. It might have been helpful to know this, four years ago, back when she’d been in an all too similar situation. But she kept quiet; helpful as the information might have been then, saying so wasn’t going to be very helpful to her or Buffy now.

Look at that, she was capable of maturity and impulse control, every once in a while. Too bad she couldn’t share the bragging rights aloud.

“Turns out he wasn’t actually dead, since he was a killer robot,” Buffy added, almost as an afterthought, interrupting Faith’s rush of inner dialogue. “But for about twelve hours there, I thought I’d killed a human being. I felt like I was a murderer. Maybe I still am, at heart.”

Faith wasn’t sure how to respond to that, or even what she herself believed. Was there a difference, in murdering in actuality, versus in perception? Where was it that the line was crossed? She was the last person to ask on that kind of philosophizing.

She’d gone to Catholic school for a few years, growing up, and everything that had been hammered into her back then had said that the thought was the same as the action, both an equal “sin.” She’d never believed that; it had never made much sense to her that thinking of something was as bad as going through with it. But most kinds of evil did start with thoughts, or lack of thought, and that was where the first steps toward the dark side begun. 

Four years ago, Buffy would have had an opinion in seconds; actions, she would have declared, were completely different from thoughts, and should have definite, immediate consequences, no matter the intent behind them. But clearly, she was different now, even more so than Faith had already observed. 

“I don’t know, B,” Faith ventured, her voice more gentle than she had thought it would come out in its tone. “I don’t have the best history when it comes to figuring out moral righteousness, or whatever you want to call it. But as far as I’ve seen, I’d say you’ve done a lot more good than you’ve done evil. Unless you got some more skeletons in your closet I haven’t heard about yet, anyway. But from what I’ve seen, even when you screw up, you’re coming from a place where you’re trying to do good.”

Buffy didn’t seem to quite hear or comprehend what Faith had said. Her gaze remained somewhat clouded, far off, not focused on her surroundings as she spoke again softly.

“I used to think I could never do it. Kill someone, or let someone I love die. But I think I could, now. Once you’ve sent people to die, and known it would happen…once you’ve killed yourself…I’m not sure there’s much else you can’t do.” 

There it was, the big question, finally referenced. The one Faith had wondered from the moment Angel first told her of Buffy’s resurrection, second round. She had known, the day that Buffy died. There had been a terrible, crushing feeling in her chest, and instinctive feeling of deep loss that she had only felt twice before in her life- losing her mother, and losing her Watcher, Diana. She had not needed to ask or be told that somehow, the seemingly invincible Buffy Summers had finally been defeated. 

But once Buffy had returned, Faith had never asked how. Not to Angel, not to the Scoobies, and definitely not to Buffy herself. It seemed too weirdly personal, somehow, and it wasn’t something anyone seemed overly eager to talk about. But Buffy had mentioned it now, and in the sharing kind of mood the girl seemed to be in, this seemed like the one shot she might have, to know. And it seemed important, even central to the pieces of what had made Buffy change. 

“Buffy…what was it like, being dead?”

There was no reflective pause before Buffy’s answer this time. This was something she knew well, something that she had clearly thought of for long periods of time, and had no hesitation in sharing, at least in this moment, with Faith.

“It was peaceful. I was safe, and I knew that I was loved, and everything was all right. There was nothing left I needed or was expected to do. There weren’t any problems, and nothing hurt. There was nothing but…completeness. Wholeness. Everything was right. Everything was…it was right,” she repeated softly, the word slightly emphasized in her tone. 

Faith didn’t love the repetition, or the implicit meaning behind the word. If everything had been right for Buffy when she was dead, then did that mean she felt everything was wrong, when she was alive? That the fact that she was alive was wrong, or undesired? 

She had felt that, once. It had seemed so wrong, so unjust, and so terribly painful for Faith to be alive, after every cruel, terrible action she had engaged in, after the evil she had put out into the world. It had felt right then for her life to end, as some sort of payment, a righting of the wrongs she had caused. And the more selfish parts of her had just wanted her own suffering over with, no matter what might happen after her own death. She hadn’t cared about herself or the world enough to wonder, or to fear.

Was that what Buffy felt now, if for different reasons? That she would be better off dead?

She remembered Buffy’s earlier comment, on the bus, the thrown off remark about death, and her chest growing painfully tight. Faith tried to bring her growing unease into some semblance of order thought, so she could contradict the other girl, so she could put out there what she was suspecting. She didn’t come up with the words fast enough before Buffy spoke again.

“I knew everything was all right then,” Buffy whispered, her eyes fixed up on the shadowed ceiling. “I knew, even if I couldn’t see. The others, they did what they thought was right. But they didn’t understand.”

Faith swallowed, feeling her heartbeat increase in speed. She knew this kind of talk. The more Buffy said, the less she liked it. But why was it Faith that she was talking to now, instead of one of her friends? She couldn’t be expecting Faith, of all people, to do the comfort thing. Faith might know how to kill a demon or save someone’s ass from being taken over by a demon- give her some kind of demon, and she could figure out what to do, even if she got put in a coma or two in the process. But talking about feelings, giving someone a shoulder to cry on or literally talking them down from an emotional ledge- that was something she had no experience in, no confidence that she could succeed at. She bit her lip, hating how helpless she felt in what to say, in how Buffy wanted or expected her to respond.

Or was that it? Had Buffy chosen her, of all people, because she felt that Faith would do the least to interrupt or reassure? Was listening and some kind of understanding what she wanted, more than to be stopped?

Fuck if Faith knew. One thing she wasn’t was some kind of shrink, and the very few she’d been forced to sit in front of in her life hadn’t done a hell of a lot to help her figure things out.

“Buffy?” she said quietly, hearing the question mark at the end of the name. 

She was asking the other woman what she wanted, what she expected from her, what it was that Buffy needed. She heard her own confusion, even a hint of her fear, in that one simple word, as she waited for Buffy’s response.

She never got one. There were no answered questions, no reassurance of her concerns. Instead, Buffy released a soft, resigned sigh, rolling onto her side more fully and curling herself up so she had no part of herself facing Faith at all.

“I’m going to sleep,” Buffy told her. “You probably should too.”

Faith watched her as she closed her eyes, her head far too full of questions to settle back into sleepiness. It took nearly an hour until she could hear the change in Buffy’s breathing as the blonde genuinely gave way into sleep, but it was far longer until Faith felt her tension ease enough to lie back down, and still longer until she too slept.


	5. Chapter 5

It seemed far, far too early in the morning when Faith heard a faint knocking noise, pushing her very reluctantly out of her sleep. She ignored it at first, burrowing further beneath the scratchy blanket, but when the knocking continued, growing louder and harder in cadence, she let out a frustrated growl and pushed herself into a partially sitting position, rubbing at the sleep in her eyes. 

As she grew aware once more of her surroundings, she realized with more than a little irritation that the noise she was hearing was someone knocking at the motel door. Scowling in its direction, she blinked her eyes enough to read the digital clock on the nightstand beside her. It was 9 am. Why the hell would someone be stupid enough to want her to wake up anywhere before noon, after everything that had gone down yesterday?

Beside her, Buffy made no move to push herself up to a waking position. Faith could tell from the change in the girl’s breathing that Buffy too had been awakened by the knocking, but she was clearly trying to resist this, feigning continued sleep. Of course; she was leaving Faith, even more sleep deprived than she was, to deal with this insanity.

Another, much louder growl escaping her throat, Faith threw the blanket off of herself, pulling it partially off Buffy in the process and hearing the girl’s squeak of protest, betraying her awakened state as the blonde snatched it back over herself and covered up her head. Feeling less than zero caring towards her mostly unclad state, Faith stalked to the door and threw it open, shielding her eyes and squinting into the far too bright sun at her unwelcome intruder.

“I don’t care if there’s another apocalypse outside the door right this very second, you’re gonna deal with it on your own, because I am fucking sleeping!”

Xander’s remaining eye immediately fixed, wide and stunned, on Faith’s mostly exposed chest in her bra, his mouth slightly open. When Faith cleared her throat pointedly, he flushed, snapping his eye up to her face before giving his response with some occasional stuttering.

“Uh, sorry…right. Uh, Giles and Andrew and some of the girls with less, well, bloody, clothing are going to go get breakfast for everyone and pick up some supplies. Toothbrushes and combs, shoes, clothes, that kind of thing. Uh, is there anything you or Buffy want or need?”

“Yeah,” Faith grunted, “sleep.” She squinted her eyes, leaning slightly against the door frame, and took some mild, amused pleasure from Xander’s involuntary tracking of her movements with his unpatched eye. 

Relenting slightly, she eased her tone, but made no effort to cover herself. 

“Just get whatever. Something wearable that isn’t pink or a dress will do for me. We’ll figure shit out like, six more hours of sleep later.”

“Right…okay, I’ll let them know,” Xander nodded, the gesture somewhat awkward. 

He took a step back, as though to make doubly sure that he wasn’t going to be risking brushing against any part of Faith’s skin. Faith remained at the doorway, continuing to get some amusement from watching him. She thought he would continue without further comment to report back to Giles, but Xander didn’t seem able to help himself from turning back one last time and blurting out the question that had clearly been burning on his mind since she opened the door.

“Um…did you and Buffy…did you both sleep like that? Like that…together?”

Tired as she was, Faith couldn’t stop from giving him a shit-eating grin in response as she stretched her arms in front of her, popping the joints. Mostly, though, she was popping out her breasts as far as the constraints of her bra would allow.

“Nah, of course not,” she said coolly, and when Xander relaxed slightly, a somewhat disappointed look briefly settling over his features, she upped the ante deliberately. “We were naked. I figured I better be modest, put some clothes on before I answer the door.”

Her grin widened at Xander’s boggle-eyed response, but she didn’t give him time for further questions or analysis. “If one of you guys comes banging on our door again before noon, someone better be dead. Got it?”

She eased herself back enough to shut the door, not letting him have enough time to give an answer. Chuckling aloud to herself as she continued to visualize his stricken expression, she shook her head as she turned to make her way back to the bed. Xander was all right, and still easy enough to wind up if you played it right. She’d noticed him acting less the part of the lame comedian, the helpless, clumsy tagalong from what she remembered of a few years back. He was quieter now, more noticeably adult in appearance and demeanor, and he seemed to have actually developed some degree of dignity that would have seemed impossible to her then. But that didn’t mean being caught off guard by a mostly naked girl or the thought of two totally naked, hot Slayer girls sharing a bed wouldn’t be enough to shake him up. 

Faith sat on the edge of the bed, noticing that Buffy was showing no intention of moving, speaking, or responding in any way as though she were aware of the brief exchange between Xander and Faith in the doorway. Cool by her. The way she’d been acting last night, it was abundantly clear to Faith that sleep was definitely not going to hurt when it came to improving the girl’s mental health. 

She had intended to drop back to sleep along with her as soon as the sleep-interrupting inconvenience had been dealt with. But now that she had moved around somewhat, Faith’s thoughts had started kicking up into high speed, and although she was tired, she wasn’t sure she would be able to go back to sleep, at least immediately. She leaned back against the headboard, swinging her feet up on the bed to stretch in front of her, and turned her head towards Buffy’s frame, buried beneath the blanket. 

“Hey,” she addressed the other girl in a loud whisper, reaching to lay a hand in an area that seemed to be approximately around Buffy’s shoulder. “Xander woke me up. I’m gonna watch TV a while, see if it puts me back to sleep. That okay?”

When Buffy gave no response, either not hearing or wanting to convey the message to her that she was pretending she couldn’t hear, Faith removed her hand, resisting, then giving in to a temptation to give Buffy’s shoulder an awkward pat.

“I’ll keep the volume down.”

Maybe two episodes of mind numbing sitcoms later, Faith’s thoughts had slowed down enough for her to wiggle back under the blanket beside Buffy, having to briefly wrestle her for enough of it to be able to fully cover her body. When her hip brushed up against what was clearly Buffy’s barely covered, ass, Faith froze, anticipating Buffy’ squawk of indignation or rage, maybe even accompanied by a punch. But Buffy gave no reaction. When Faith inched herself away, she was still close enough to Buffy’s body to feel the warmth it gave off against her own skin. 

She thought after that mishap of sorts it would take her some time to fall back to sleep, but in what seemed moments, she was stirred into consciousness again by someone’s knock at the motel door. This time, she was pretty sure even in her grogginess that it wasn’t Xander. The knocks were softer, more measured in beat, and there was ample pause between the two rounds of knocking before she heard Giles’s voice call out.

“Buffy? Faith? I have some clothing and other supplies, and a matter to some importance to discuss.”

Giles, huh? Maybe Xander was too scared of what Faith might be wearing this time to venture forth for round two. Or maybe he was so amused at the thought of Giles’s reaction to her or Buffy’s near nudity that he had sent him in his place, just to be able to imagine the older man’s overly flustered and British reaction.

Smiling to herself at the thought, Faith briefly debated a repeat of her earlier door-opening attire, but then decided that maybe it wouldn’t be all that awesome if the man ended up having a heart attack or a stroke at the sight of her breasts. It had probably been like, a decade since he saw boobs that weren’t digital or at the very least as old as he was. 

“Give us a minute,” she called back to Giles, not in the mood to hear any repeat of knocking. “We’re getting up, hold the cavalry.” 

Heaving herself up, she stretched, suppressing a yawn, and reached out for the second time to jostle the approximate area of Buffy’s blanket-covered shoulder. This time she ended up grasping onto the top of Buffy’s head, and Faith chuckled, deciding to hold onto it as she playfully gave it the best hair ruffling she could manage with a blanket in between Buffy’s head and her hand. 

“B, wake up. Not gonna ask you to do any shining, but I think you gotta do some rising, at least. It’s Giles, and it sounds like he’s not leaving until we go see what’s up.”

She heard Buffy’s faint answering groan, muffled enough that Faith assumed she was pressing her face into her pillow. Giving her head another jostle, Faith stood, popping the vertebrae of her spine, and ambled into the bathroom, using the toilet quickly and then wrapping herself in the two remaining clean- or more accurately, unused- towels. One was definitely not enough coverage to be able to prevent heart attacks.

Thus attired, she finally made her way to the door and opened it for Giles, standing a step back from the doorway. Arching an eyebrow, she commented, “Pretty sure I told Xander not to come knocking before noon. It’s 11:53. Is someone dead?”

Giles’s face seemed haggard, the circles beneath his eyes magnified and even darker than Faith would have thought possible beneath his glasses. The lines of age in his forehead seemed deeper than usual this morning, and Faith noticed his hand tightening on the shopping bags they held. Faith noted as well that his normally very straight posture was slumped, his shoulders almost bowed, though the bags he carried didn’t appear heavy enough to cause any strain.

But most disturbing of all, Giles didn’t seem to react to, or hell, even notice Faith’s makeshift towel dress. For Giles, that was a pretty bad sign. 

“Oh, shit,” Faith said softly, understanding before he had given a response to her flippant remark. “Who was it? What happened?” 

His eyes were fixed solely on her face, and his voice was as heavy as the set of his shoulders when he responded. 

“It was Robin Wood, Faith. He succumbed to his injuries around ten o’clock this morning. If you and Buffy could please get dressed and ready for the day, we will be needed to claim his body at the hospital and make arrangements for him. I have some clothing and hygienic supplies here you will need. If there is anything that has been left out, Willow and Dawn are distributing the rest among the others. Come and let them know what you need. We will be leaving in around an hour, but until everything has been decided for him, plan to stay here at least another night or two.”

Faith was barely aware of Buffy’s presence lingering just behind her, finally arisen from the bed as she drew close, assumedly in reaction to Giles’s solemn news. She didn’t register whether the other girl had bothered to assume some kind of dress or had just drifted as she was to the door, uncaring of or perhaps simply not thinking of her lack of attire. Buffy stopped just behind her, close enough that Faith could feel her breath stir her hair and gave an unconscious shiver in response. Still, she felt nothing but a gradually encompassing numbness take over her body as she nodded her understanding to Giles and slowly shut the door.

So the death toll had not stopped, with Sunnydale’s collapse. The question of whether the battle’s resolution had indeed been a victory seemed even more ambivalent now in Faith’s mind. How could it be, when grief and suffering was still ongoing, even mounting, in its wake?


	6. Chapter 6

Buffy seemed to be moving in slow motion to get ready, but Faith felt no impatience towards her for this. She herself felt heavy-limbed, her movements made with effort and mental reminders to go through with them. Her thoughts were cloudy and slow, strangely detached from herself, as though she were observing another person’s thoughts rather than experiencing them. 

 

She shouldn’t be so stunned by Robin’s death. Yesterday, she had actually thought him dead already at one point. But after his “surprise resurrection,” she had thought him recovered or at least recovering, strong and tough enough to make it through, in the end. She had thought the deaths were over, at least for now. Until the next apocalypse.

But it had been stupid, making that kind of assumption. People died every day, for much more mundane reasons than evil demonic killing things or end of the world catastrophes. Even Buffy had died once from simple drowning. None of them, powers or not, were immune to death and its ultimate power over them.

Few words exchanged between Faith and Buffy as they showered, dressed, and otherwise prepared themselves to join the others on the bus. It appeared that Giles had already informed the others of Robin’s death, because Faith noticed that a few of the Potentials and Andrew were crying or looked as though they had been recently. A distant part of her suspected that it was not so much grief over Robin, whom most had really barely known, as much as it was delayed reaction to all the other losses and deaths of the past few months, catching up to them. The older group- Willow, Xander, Giles, and Buffy herself- showed little reaction, only a grim somberness to their expressions and body language to indicate their state of mind. As everyone seated themselves, Willow taking the wheel of the bus, Faith didn’t fail to notice that Buffy sat alone, but directly across from Faith’s chosen seat.

Faith didn’t bother attempting to analyze any meaning behind this, if there was any. She had chosen a seat to herself, towards the back, and made no effort at conversation with anyone, even on surface level. She was not in the mood to speak. She felt numb, almost cold inside, and as she leaned her head against the window, staring towards the passing sites without really seeing them, she could feel Buffy watching her. She didn’t turn her head to meet her eyes, nor did she ask her, as she usually might, if there was something she wanted to say. She simply sat, maintaining her silence, until the bus came to a stop in the hospital parking lot. 

Although everyone went together into the hospital, only Giles and Willow went to claim Robin’s body and speak with the hospital officials about the options available for its care. Willow seemed unofficially second in command now, with Buffy’s unspoken but clear lack of caring towards this, although always in the past, it would have been Buffy, even over Giles, who was in charge. The others dispersed themselves among what entertainment the hospital had to offer, browsing the gift shop, going to get drinks or snacks in the café, and even checking out the small library, in some of the nerdier girls’ and Andrew’s cases. Without anyone asking anything of her or paying attention to her whereabouts, Faith quietly left the hospital, drawing as little attention to herself as possible. Being in anything resembling a medical facility made her skin crawl; after eight months in a hospital, whether or not she’d been awake and coherent, it was about the last place on earth she would choose to be.

There was a small gas station across the street, and Faith made her way over to it, purchasing an energy drink, a lighter, and a few one dollar packs of cigars. She had already downed half the can by the time she crossed back to the hospital. Wandering around its exterior until she found the designated smoking area outside, she paced as she lit the first cigar, her hands shaking with her first attempt. As she took in her first drag, breathing in deeply and then letting out the smoke in slow, uneven exhalation, she felt first one, then a second and third tear begin to slowly scald the skin of her cheeks. 

She ignored them, hoping they were some kind of fluke and would disappear on their own, but more came in their place. Leaning against the hospital wall, she continued to smoke, crying as silently as she could manage, her chest tight and aching with the pressure of her efforts to hold back.

She didn’t know what the fuck was the matter with her. It wasn’t like she had loved Robin Wood. Hell, she had barely even liked him. They had had sex a couple of times, that was all. Sex had never meant anything to her before, and it hadn’t with Robin either. She had always made sure of that. He might have wanted more, or been willing for more, but Faith herself, that had not been a true consideration or even a question on her horizon.

Robin wasn’t any different from anyone else that Faith knew or had known. He wasn’t any more special or close to her than any number of the girls that had just died in the very same battle. 

So why the fuck was she crying? If he wasn’t different…then was she? Had something changed in her? 

“Faith.”

Faith’s head swiveled fast at the sound of her name spoken aloud, with enough harshness to the movement that she heard a popping noise accompany it. She ignored the flare of pain, narrowing her eyes and willing the tears still present on her cheeks to quickly dry up and evaporate out of sight, or at least to drop down into the skin of her shoulders or chest, where they would be less noticeable. And of course, not to fucking return. 

Because it was Buffy who had called out to her softly, Buffy who was still approaching at a slow but steady pace. And even now, Faith absolutely was not comfortable with Buffy seeing her cry.

Arranging her features into a mask of indifference, though aware that the look was probably strained and not quite as practiced as she would like, Faith raised an eyebrow at her, waiting for Buffy to say whatever it was she had come to say. She expected her to wrinkle her nose at the smell of the cigars or at least to comment on them, but Buffy seemed unbothered by them, continuing to draw closer. Maybe Spike had gotten her used to the smell; still, it seemed something that the other girl would have been judgmental and princess-like about. At least, back in one point in time.

“What’s up, B?” Faith asked, her voice as calm and casual as she could make it, but she cursed herself when, raising her cigar back to her lips, she saw her hand tremble, yet again. “They leaving already? Made all the big plans?”

“No,” Buffy said simply, her eyes on Faith’s face. Her expression was difficult to read, but Faith thought there was something more…present…in her eyes than she’d seen in the last day. Buffy seemed actually with her in the moment, instead of checked out in some place inside herself. 

And that probably meant that she’d noticed the tears, however fast Faith had sucked them back. Fuck.

“Well, here I am, safe, sound, and unmolested by demons, if someone was wondering,” Faith shrugged, taking another deep drag of the cigar, hoping the hit of nicotine would bring with it the calm she sometimes got from it. At the very least it gave her something to focus on, a way to occupy her hands. “And don’t worry, before you comment, I’m not handing these things out to the baby Slayers,” she added, nodding towards her hand. “Keeping these things all to myself, unless you want a hit. If you do, knock yourself out.”

She held the cigar out to Buffy, hoping to distract her into some kind of disgusted rant or lecture against the evils of tobacco against health, stains on teeth, skin, and clothing, and whatever else the girl could come up with in her declination. But Buffy ignored the offer, instead meeting Faith’s eyes with a steady, watchful gaze of her own. 

 

“You don’t have to pretend you’re okay, Faith.”

Faith’s chest compressed, and she pressed her lips together hard, her features tightening with the increasing difficult effort of keeping still threatening tears back behind her eyes, back where she felt they very much belonged. She stubbed out her cigar against the hospital wall, not wanting Buffy’s attention drawn to her hands and the worsening of their trembling state. Crossing her arms over her chest in unconscious defense, she jerked up her chin in the other girl’s direction, her words coming out through grinding back teeth.

“You’re one to talk, B. Isn’t that how you go through every day? Do you think it’s actually working, because anyone with fucking eyes can see through it.”

“But they don’t,” Buffy said quietly, a note in her voice that made Faith lower her chin slightly, looking at her more directly. “No one has. Except for you.”

Faith breathed in through her nose, then swallowed, her eyes flitting to the side. Of all times, Buffy had to pick now, right fucking now, to have some kind of heart to heart? To lift out of her zombie-like state and indicate a level of observance that for once, Faith didn’t want her to possess?

“I’ll stop pretending with you,” Buffy said after several moments of silence between them, her voice still quiet, but rational, even measured in its tone. “That I’m okay, I mean. I’ll stop with you, if you’ll stop with me.”

Faith’s eyes swerved back to take in the girl’s face, and seeing no hint of mocking or trickery there, she stared, not quite sure what to think. In spite of the shift in dynamics between them in the battle and its aftermath, in spite of the strangeness of their conversation the night before, it seemed so utterly surreal for Buffy to lay herself open in this way, to her. And to make the offer for Faith to do the same, some sort of balance of shared vulnerability…

Mentally reeling, Faith deflected, attempting apathy or even irritation with her tone. Instead, her words came out soft, confused. She even heard a fucking catch in the middle of her sentence. 

“Buffy…why are you here?”

Buffy paused, seeming to be considering the question, or maybe what words she would use in her answer. She spoke simply, but her reply sounded sincere.

“Because I think you get it. And no one else can. Even if they wanted to, or even if they saw. No one else can experience it, or feel it in the same way.”

“Get what?” Faith asked, as much to continue the stalling and deflection as anything. 

But she didn’t need an explanation from Buffy to know. It was the nature, the very being of a Slayer and living out its lifestyle and the girl that it formed as a result, that Buffy was referring to. It was the depth of loneliness, no matter how many people surrounded you, the feeling of emptiness, of certainty that no one in the world could relate or understand. It was the sense of not being good enough, of needing to do more and do better, to prove something to the world and fight against every aspect of it that seemed unjust or wrong- and of knowing all along you could never, no matter how hard you tried, be enough to really fix its problems or save the most damaged of its people. It was the pain of failure and loss, knowing that it would always, forever be a part of your life, that your existence would be short and brutal and so full of hardship that it sometimes seemed pointless to continue. It was the paradox of always fighting for your life and simultaneously wishing for your death. It was the need for connection and comfort even as you pushed away everyone who ever tried to help or draw near, because you knew that any relationship with you was bound to be a death sentence. 

She and Buffy were Slayers, and so no matter the surface differences, they had always been the same, deep into the core of their hearts. A part of Faith had always known this, even as she simultaneously believed with sincerity that Buffy was different, better than her, better than Faith could ever hope or wish to be. 

But maybe Buffy had been through enough, or caused enough badness now for this to no longer quite be true. And maybe Buffy knew, now, that the differences between them had at least gone somewhat close to evening out. 

 

“You get it,” Buffy repeated, with slight more emphasis to the words. “You backed me up, that night that everyone went against me. When they put aside everything I had tried to do to teach them, all because of one terrible night, one mistake in judgment, and kicked me out of my own house. The house I owned. The house I had welcomed them all into, whether or not I had the space for it. My own friends, the people who had backed me up for years, pushed me out in a single night.”

She took a breath in, released it slowly, still meeting Faith’s eyes with hers. 

“You challenged me, but you didn’t attack me. Even after I had attacked you. You didn’t ask to get elected leader, and you didn’t ask me to step down or leave. You didn’t want that, did you?”

Faith shook her head faintly, unsure if Buffy actually meant for her to respond. The question seemed as much for Buffy herself as it was towards Faith. 

But it was true. She had never wanted Buffy to leave. Not that night, not ever. She had wanted, strove for years, to be equal to her, to be accepted as she believed Buffy always would be. But she had never wanted to be above her.

“You followed me outside, that night, when no one else did,” Buffy continued steadily. “You wanted to know that I would be okay, even when I didn’t show that kind of concern towards you, when you came back to help me. You didn’t want me to leave, and you didn’t want to take over, even when you thought I was wrong. You didn’t want to lead…and you don’t now, do you?”

Faith shook her head again, answering softly her this time. 

“No, Buffy. I don’t. I just want…I want to be useful. Part of the team, or if not that, wherever you need me most.”

 

She didn’t expect to stand shoulder to shoulder with Buffy, even if she wanted to. She didn’t think she ever really could, even if she had earned the beginnings of respect and forgiveness. Even at seventeen, even before the craziness that had gone down on her side, she hadn’t truly felt worthy, no matter her bravado to indicate otherwise, no matter how much she wanted it, of standing equal at her side. 

Part of the team would have been enough, if they had truly made her feel that this were so. Part of the team would be enough now. 

“You don’t want to lead,” Buffy repeated, as though to take in her own realizations, to drive them more fully into her understanding. “But you don’t want to go your own way, either.” She paused, her eyebrows furrowed as her eyes shifted aside, before she released a small sigh, looking back at Faith.

“Maybe I don’t either. Want to lead. But I’ve never liked to be alone.”

Buffy wasn’t alone, Faith felt an urge to point out to her. She never had been. As long as Faith had known her, she had had the love and support of countless friends, a father figure in Giles, boyfriends, a sister, and once upon a time, a devoted mother too. In comparison, Faith had had only Angel, with the sporadic visits and long distance support that, though providing her the strength to press on, had never been anything like a true family, and could not be counted on as a continuous fallback.

Still, she understood what Buffy was saying and could not deny that by Buffy’s meaning, she was right. It was the very nature of their lives as Slayers to be alone, and to feel it with intensity in their heart. 

Faith nodded jerkily, sudden tears, inexplicable to herself but urgent in their pressure building again behind her eyes. She fumbled for a second cigar, needing the act of smoking as a fast distraction, but when she opened her eyes again to be able to light it, the tears fell free. 

Gritting her teeth, Faith attempted to ignore and therefore deny them as she raised her smoke to her lips, closing her eyes again and inhaling deeply. Buffy made no comments, apparently finished with yet another of her infamous speeches. But this one, for Buffy, had been fairly short, and noticeably lacking in the rousing calls to action that Faith had heard from her before. 

Buffy was just standing with her, perhaps waiting, or perhaps simply being present with her, accepting of Faith in this particular moment in time. In fact, although Faith hadn’t noticed how or when it had happened, she seemed to have moved closer to her, nearly shoulder to shoulder as Buffy too leaned back against the wall. 

Maybe it was this unspoken but sensed feeling of acceptance, or maybe it was Buffy’s proximity and the choice she had made to arrange it, but whatever it was seemed to give Faith permission, even if she couldn’t give it to herself, to let tears continue to come. Buffy stayed beside her, not speaking, and little by little, Faith felt the faint pressure of the other woman’s shoulder coming to lean, ever so slightly, into her own. 

It was enough for her to compose herself, to feel that she would truly be able to face the others somewhat closer to “okay” than before. Buffy continued to wait as Faith finished her cigar, and then, with a final steadying breath, the two began to walk, still side by side, back to the hospital. Some hours later, when everyone had boarded the bus again, it did not escape Faith’s notice that Buffy chose to sit beside her, nor that every so often, the other girl’s shoulder lightly touched her own, lingering for several moments before she would pull back into her own space.


	7. Chapter 7

Most of the day had been taken up with the practical matters of addressing logistics. The arrangements for Robin’s body and being put to rest, getting more supplies that had not been covered with the first shopping trip, and discussions among the older members of the group in the general plan and direction of their endeavor. All of the surviving Potentials had been spoken with as to their intentions, after Faith had pointed out that some of them may very well want and have the option to be returned to their families. Of course, there were girls all over the country now who were now called into Slayer powers, most who would not only have no idea what had happened to them but might be frightened enough to become dangerous to themselves or others. It would be important for some or all of them to determine a way to contact and reach out to those girls, whether to explain to them, make arrangements for their training, or to find some means to neutralize the threat they could potentially cause. With the Watcher’s council now officially history, it was possible that they, as a team, could build a new one, more focused on education, training, and outreach, than on the “watching and criticizing from afar” methods that it seemed most of the Watcher’s Council had decided on. 

That, of course, would mean renting or otherwise finding some establishment of headquarters, determining who would be involved and what role they would play, and how to go about locating the Slayers. Angel’s hotel had been raised by Willow as a potential resting point, even possible temporary headquarters, given its size and location. Faith had expected Buffy to bristle at this suggestion, given how her last encounter with him in LA had gone, but Buffy had hardly seemed to be listening, let alone responding to the discussion. In the end, Giles had contacted Angel, and he had agreed that this could be arranged. After the cremation of Robin’s body, the group would begin the journey to the hotel and start organizing what was needed to start anew and make more definite plans for their future. 

Faith, like Buffy, had mostly listened, giving her input only when directly asked. Her thoughts were still occupied by the earlier conversation between herself and Buffy. Besides, she was willing to go along with whatever was decided, to be pointed in a direction where she’d fit. It wasn’t like she had anywhere to go or anything to do that was any more pressing than the options being thrown out there for her.

They all ended up back at the motel later than expected- the conversation had gone on for quite some time, and then there had been the need for food somewhere suitable to occupy a large group mostly made up of young Slayers and their newly increased appetites and energy levels. By the time everyone had parted for the night and made their way back to their assigned motel rooms, Faith was itching for some time apart, to have room to breathe and be within her own space. Sometimes all that energy and earnestness could be exhausting to be around for long.

She let Buffy have the shower first as she had the day before, noticing again that Buffy didn’t abuse the length of time she remained in it. Freshly dressed in the short sleeved t shirt and cotton shorts that had been purchased for her in the way of pajamas, Buffy emerged from the bathroom with slightly damp hair, indicating with a nod and an almost indecipherable word or two that Faith could now use the shower. Faith saw that Buffy’s hair was a light brown at the roots and smiled to herself; she had always been certain the girl was a bottle blonde. Obviously, Buffy had either been far too busy or had stopped caring enough to touch up her hair dye. 

Faith kind of liked that. The imperfection made Buffy seem more human; it was sort of endearing. Then again, it also kind of heightened the concern she had been steadily feeling towards her. Maintaining a carefully groomed exterior had always been important to Buffy, and if she was letting that lapse, that had to say something about what was going on inside her.

The stress of the day seemed to slowly seep out from her with the shower’s warm water, steady against her skin. Faith closed her eyes as she let its spray run over her, taking her time. When she finally emerged, dressing in a tank top and boxer shorts that she suspected had been meant for Xander or Andrew but had taken for herself all the same, she saw that Buffy had already settled herself in bed beneath the covers, eyes closed, curling up on her side.

Faith made some effort to be quiet as she toweled her hair dry and readied herself to join her, dimming the light and settling beside her after brushing teeth. Wriggling into a comfortable position, she closed her eyes and concentrated on trying to clear her thoughts enough to sleep. 

It was pretty obvious to her from Buffy’s breathing that although the girl had her eyes closed and remained very still in the bed, she was nowhere close to sleep. She could feel the tension in Buffy’s body radiating off of her, almost enough for Faith’s own muscles to flinch with sympathy, and her breathing was too quick to indicate rest. She seemed to at least want Faith to believe that she was sleeping, though, so Faith figured she didn’t want to talk. 

Buffy surprised her when she spoke suddenly, less than five minutes after Faith had come to lay beside her.

“Angel told me that you tried to kill yourself.”

Any sleepiness that Faith had managed to conjure up vanished immediately at those words. She sat up, her gestures abrupt, and stared down at Buffy, tensing up even as she tried to keep her response to her light in its tone.

“Yeah? Which time was he talking about in particular?”

“Both times,” Buffy clarified. She rolled over onto her back, her head turned ever so slightly in Faith’s direction. “After you woke up from the coma, and left Sunnydale. Right before I came after you. And just last week. When you went to help his friends.”

Faith shrugged, delaying her response. There had been so little time in between Angel coming back from his Angelus state, Faith getting a ride with Willow back to Sunnydale, and the entire shitstorm that had gone down since that she couldn’t imagine when he had the time to share her business with Buffy. Actually, she had been under the impression that Angel and Buffy spoke as little as possible, if at all. 

Besides, what Buffy said wasn’t totally accurate. Not exactly. She hadn’t “tried to kill herself” the second time around, so much as she had been willing to die in sacrifice to bring Angel back. It wasn’t so much the wanting death, as feeling that living was pretty damn hard, and the world would be better off with Angel in it than Faith, if it came down to a choice.

The first time around, that hadn’t been a suicide attempt either, not when it came down to the semantics. Definitely she had wanted to die, but her intentions had been to force Angel’s hand in making it happen. Maybe Faith was just too much of a pussy to go through with it on her own, or maybe Angel was right, and a tiny piece of her had always fought to live no matter what, to bring herself onto the good side no matter how much the darkness fought to take over. 

Whatever, she was no shrink or philosopher. Point was, Angel had ran his big mouth about business she had thought to be pretty damn personal, and to Buffy, at that. She wasn’t so sure how she felt about that, or how Buffy did, for that matter. 

“Angel talks too much,” she said finally, turning slightly on one shoulder to face Buffy, but she focused her eyes on her shoulder rather than her face. “He got the gist of it, but missed some key details. More or less though, yeah, he’s right. Mostly.”

Buffy didn’t ask her to further explain. Maybe Faith’s confirmation of her statement, and of Angel’s confiding the information that had apparently not been so confidential, was enough for her without more details. 

“Why did you do it?” she asked. “What made you go through with deciding to die?”

Faith listened for judgment or accusation in her tone, but there was none, only an intensity that Faith could not quite label. Concern, maybe, or was it some sort of need, a desire to understand…or to find common ground? 

The back of Faith’s neck prickled at this thought, and cold dread gripped itself around her heart. This wasn’t the first time that Buffy had hinted around at something she was feeling or seeking out, something dark enough to scare her in its familiarity with what she herself had once felt and sought out.

Faith didn’t bother to try to keep her voice or expression calm. Sitting up, she stared down at Buffy directly now, hearing herself speaking more loudly than before but not giving a damn if it would start something or rub Buffy wrong. She wanted to rub Buffy wrong. At least a pissed off Buffy would be a Buffy who was fighting back, a Buffy who gave a damn about something in her life. 

 

“Where the hell is this coming from, Buffy? What are you trying to ask here, or trying to say?”

Buffy sat up with her, much more slowly, and angled herself in a position to face her. There was no stiffness of anger or defensiveness in her posture, no proud angle of her chin, and that alone scared Faith. 

“I want to hear about it, Faith. I want to know what you were going through. You don’t have to tell me, but…I would like to know. Not from Angel. He isn’t you, he might think he gets you, but he wasn’t in your head or your body, so he can only understand so much. I want to hear from you.”

Faith remained on guard, staring back at the other girl in an effort to read between the lines of her words, her near total lack of gestures. When Buffy remained still, meeting her gaze steadily, Faith exhaled. This seemed important to Buffy. She truly did seem to want to know. Whether for her own purposes, or to understand Faith, she couldn’t be sure, but maybe it didn’t matter. Maybe there had to be a point where Faith made the leap to trust, in the same way that Buffy had crossed some of her inner guards to trust her.

 

“Well, last time, I didn’t really want to die,” Faith said slowly, her first few words coming out along with an exhale out. “I just wanted to get Angel back, and if that meant I had to say sayanara, well, I had to do what I had to do. I’d rather me be the one to go than anyone else, if someone had to peace out on life to get the job done. I wasn’t suicidal, if that’s what he said. More like, if dying was going to happen, I was cool with it. Shit gets hard, you know? I guess I thought…it would be a good thing, if I went out knowing that I was doing something good in the process. Like…it would mean I really had gotten that redemption shit in the end.”

She paused, checking Buffy’s response. When the girl remained still, seeming to be listening, showing openness to hearing more, she went on.

“It seemed like the easy thing to do. Like it would make things better, and I’d make up for everything by going out saving someone else. Someone better.”

“So…you were making a trade,” Buffy paraphrased, tilting her head slightly, as though to toss the idea around in her thoughts. “Angel’s life, for yours.”

“Yeah, seemed like a good deal at the time,” Faith nodded, her shoulders lifting up and down in a slight shrug. “Still does, to be honest. Can’t say I wouldn’t do it again if the decision was there. But you know Angel. He’s not letting anyone go without a fight.”

A ghost of a smile curved Buffy’s lips, but Faith was somewhat relieved to see that it seemed to be genuine. She couldn’t remember the last time she had seen Buffy smile without forcing it, at least in the past few days.

“Nope, has to be the hero. One of these days, he should get a cape and a mask.”

“Oh, I bet he has the entire Batman costume in is closet somewhere,” Faith snickered, letting a grin break forth. “Spandex and all. But since he’s Angel, he probably attaches wings somewhere on the back.”

Buffy’s smile widened, just enough that Faith saw a brief glimpse of teeth. It was far too short a period before her mouth straightened out again. 

“What about the other time? The first time?”

Faith eyed her, not failing to notice that Buffy was leaning towards her slightly, shifting herself in such a way that the bony ball of her knee cap nearly touched Faith’s. Buffy didn’t just feel idle curiosity or even concern, Faith was suddenly certain. She didn’t just want an answer to her questions…. Faith was certain now that Buffy was asking because she needed her answers.

“I was in a different place then,” she said finally, watchful of any small shift in Buffy’s eyes. “A dark place. I had killed people, and that…it takes chunks out of you, and then it adds things that stick like…some sort of grime, or filth. Something you can’t get off you, no matter what you do to try. I’d…I’d done a lot of things, really shitty things, and I knew it. I…I knew what I’d become, what I was then, and I hated it. Hated me. I guess it just seemed hopeless. I didn’t want to be who I was, or where I was with life, and there didn’t seem any point in trying to be better, or like there was even a possibility I could do it.”

She paused, noting Buffy’s breath seeming to quicken, and softened her voice, her eyes bearing hard into the other girls as she concluded. “I felt like everything would be better if I just wasn’t there to make it worse. Like I needed to pay, and that was the only payment option out there for me. That was why I did what I did.”

She narrowed her eyes, shifting back a little so she was sitting atop her heels.

“Now…look, Buffy, you’ve asked a hell of a lot of questions and they’re pretty damn personal. They’re not shit I’d say to just anybody…but you’re not just anybody, okay? So I answered, because you asked. And I guess I owe you that much, to answer things you want to know. But now I’m gonna need you to answer something for me, and answer it straight. Why are you asking me these things? Really. Because what you’ve giving off right now, it’s not vibes I’m liking.” 

 

Ten seconds felt like more than enough time for Buffy to come up with some sort of answer. When Faith didn’t get one, her heart lurched, her fears magnified. She took hold of Buffy’s shoulders abruptly, feeling the fragile angles of prominent bones beneath, and gripped her, forcing her to look her straight on.

“No, you don’t get to push this away. I’m asking you a question and I need an answer, Buffy. Yesterday, you were talking about being dead. Before that, you were talking about being able to “stop.” Today, you’re talking suicide. I might be slow, but I can draw a straight fucking line. Are you thinking about killing yourself?”

Buffy’s lips thinned, and Faith saw the slight pulse of her throat as she swallowed. She didn’t trying to move out from under her hands, though. If anything, Faith thought that she was leaning, almost curving herself into her touch. 

“I’m not going to kill myself, Faith,” she said finally, her voice dry, lacking life or force. It wasn’t near enough to serve to lower Faith’s anxiety. “Not without there being a purpose for it, something that would serve a higher cause. I’m not that selfish.”

She wasn’t finished, though. Faith could tell there was more she was holding back, could feel it in the tension of her shoulders and see it in the bruised look of her eyes. She waited, gentling her touch, until Buffy continued. 

“It just seems…it’s so hard, and so pointless, sometimes. To keep fighting so hard for a battle that never ends. To always be on guard, and for every victory, there are so many more fights left to come. So many people who are lost along the way. And it’s…it seems like such a struggle just to stay alive, and I start to wonder, why? Why do I keep on, why do I survive, when so many don’t? I’m no better than any of them. I was just given more. I didn’t fight for my abilities. I didn’t even want them. But now they’re me. I don’t know what I’d do without them, and I don’t know if I could even be in a situation where I needed them without using them, because that’s me now. That’s what I do.”

 

She swallowed again, a slight choked noise escaping her throat, and Faith saw tears rise up and then disappear out of sight from her eyes. Buffy looked back at her, seeming to try to see Faith in the same way that Faith was trying to see into her- or maybe just trying to give Faith the answers of herself that Faith was seeking.

“I can’t even die without coming back again. Is it so hard to believe that I want to be able to have peace? I just want to rest, Faith. I want to be able to take a breath and have it all stop. I want…I want…”

Her words trailed away, and she uttered a suppressed sobbing noise that Faith heard, despite her efforts to push it down. Clearly Buffy was struggling, her skin growing mottled and taut with her efforts of forcing back strong emotion. Seeing her fighting so hard for control, just as Buffy herself had described how she fought for everything else in her life, Faith felt a surge of empathy flood through her. 

Without further thought on what she was doing or saying, acting on instinct alone, Faith reached up and cupped Buffy’s face in her hand. She stroked the line of her cheekbone with her thumb, seeing Buffy’s eyes close in response, her eyelids creased in the center. She didn’t pull back or protest Faith’s touch, so Faith didn’t pull away. Her other hand slid from Buffy’s shoulder to the space in between her shoulder blades, and she rested her palm flat, in unconscious effort to monitor the speed of Buffy’s breaths and the beating of her heart.

“People are alive today because of you,” she said to her, quietly but with feeling, her gaze unwavering on Buffy’s face, even as Buffy’s eyes remained closed. “People have hope for their future, people believe in good in the world and that they stand a chance at winning out against it, because of you. People feel like the world is worth fighting for, because of you. Buffy, the world is literally still in existence, multiple times over, because of you. And you’re telling me…what are you telling me, Buffy? That you wish you weren’t in the world you just saved? Because if you felt that way, you could have saved us all a lot of time and effort and just let the apocalypse run its course.”

Buffy exhaled, her breath ragged under Faith’s hands, and shook her head faintly, but her eyes still did not open. 

“Faith,” she said, no real strength to the word, and Faith shook her head with vehemence, overpowering her in gesture and tone.

“No! No, Buffy! Are you saying that it’s easier to just let everyone down, people who need you, who depend on you? Are you saying you would let the people who love you suffer, that you could be okay with knowing how much we wanted and missed you? You could live knowing how much we hurt, how much we were suffering? You would just go and leave us when we fucking love you, when we would kill or die for you without a second thought?” 

Buffy’s eyes snapped open, wide with startled confusion, and for a few seconds Faith couldn’t understand what it was that she had said to cause her reaction. Then it hit her. How many times in her impulsive little rant had she said the words we, us, including herself in the people she was talking about? And how obvious had it been, with her passion of her words, that this hadn’t been misspoken, that she had included herself because she was describing her own feelings? 

“Them,” she said hastily, far too late, far too unconvincingly. “Hurting them. You know how much they hurt the last time, and you, you would still hurt them again.” 

 

But Buffy was clearly ignoring her effort to cover up her words. She stared at Faith, seeming to be seeing her now in a different light than before, as if Faith had suddenly changed form before her eyes.

“You’re shaking, Faith,” Buffy said softly.

She inclined her head towards Faith’s hand, still gripping her shoulder, and Faith saw when she followed her gaze that she was right. Her arm was visibly trembling, her fingers loosened by this against Buffy. Probably Buffy had felt the unsteadiness of her hands long before she voiced it.

Mortified, Faith snatched both hands back to herself abruptly, deliberately shifting herself to put extra space between herself and Buffy. She clinched her fists at her sides, willing herself to go still, forcing her body to obey her resolve to shut down. 

“Yeah, well, I might be, but I’m not fucking dying,” she said roughly, trying to force the focus back to Buffy. “And I’m not fantasizing about it like some kind of sick daydream. So let’s get back on topic here. Spotlights back to you, B.”

But Buffy ignored the gruffness of her words and tone, just as she had ignored her attempts at backpedaling in her use of pronouns. She continued to regard her, her features shifting into an expression that was softer and far less flat in its affect. After several moments that for Faith, felt uncomfortably long and uneasy, Buffy reached out to her, slowly covering the back of Faith’s hand with her own. 

“I heard what you said before, Faith.”

Faith held herself motionless, her chest tight with anxiety at Buffy’s unexpected initiating of touch. Her mind fumbled for some kind of reply, but came up with nothing as she felt Buffy’s slim fingers carefully entwine into her own. As Faith’s stiff hand eased into the position that Buffy manipulated it into, Faith’s heart beat a rapid, sickening staccato against her ribcage, and she felt naked, far too transparent in her thoughts and emotions against the continued steadiness of Buffy’s eyes on hers. 

What was Buffy doing right now? What was she thinking, what was she expecting or wanting out of Faith? What was it that Faith herself wanted? What was happening between them in this very moment, and what did it mean?

None of this came out her mouth or even came close to forming words on her tongue. She stayed still as Buffy’s free hand lifted up, her fingertips tracing the outline of Faith’s cheek in what could only be described as a caress. Faith’s breathing stopped, holding tight in her throat as Buffy leaned in, kissing her cheek in a gesture as brief and soft as a breath of its own. Faith was only able to exhale when Buffy lay back in bed, lightly tugging at Faith’s hand in unspoken request for her to follow. She hesitated, then slowly lay back beside her, her fingers still tangled in Buffy’s grasp. 

Buffy didn’t say anything else, and Faith still felt unable to summon any words herself. They lay together, close enough for their hips and shoulders to touch, hands clasped, and Faith was very much aware of the rhythm of Buffy’s breaths, beginning to fall in time with her own as their breathing and heart rates gradually slowed into more normal rhythms. Buffy fell asleep before Faith; she could feel it in the loosening of her grasp, the increased warmth and relaxation of Buffy’s skin against hers. Nevertheless, in the morning, when Faith stirred awake, she found that their hands had not lost contact through the entirety of the night.

They didn’t talk about the night before. But there was a noticeably looser stance to the way that Buffy held herself, and when she sat up, she didn’t immediately pull her hand away. Instead, she looked over at Faith and smiled, the gesture small and brief, but genuine, her hazel eyes soft. And when she pulled away, turning to prepare herself for the day, Faith watched her and saw that her shoulders were straighter, her head held up, and even her footsteps seemed lighter and quicker in stride.

There was little verbally exchanged between them, but the difference in mood between them was clear. Faith felt a crackle of unspoken connection, thick and near electric with energy pulsing in the air, and it was difficult to keep herself from instinctively drawing forward, keeping her body close to Buffy’s. 

When they boarded the bus with the others, setting out for their next destination, Buffy kept just behind Faith and slid into the seat she chose without saying anything about her second decision to do so in two days’ time. Buffy shifted herself close enough that their legs touched, and when Faith tried to move herself closer to the window, to give Buffy the opportunity to claim her own space if the other woman desired it, Buffy spread her legs open just enough that her leg brushed Faith’s again, a warm, solid pressure against her. The gesture was obviously deliberate, just as Buffy had reached out to her, the night before.

The muscle in Faith’s thigh twitched, and she took a breath in and let it out, trying to calm the surge of anxious, desperate emotion rising up her throat and flooding her face with heat. She clinched a fist unconsciously against her knee, nails biting into the palm of her hand, but a small, cool hand covered over her taut fingers, wrapping with light but firm pressure against them. 

Faith held her breath, intent, watchful, as Buffy slowly worked her fist free and laced her fingers through hers. The other woman held on, resting their joined hands in the slight dip of space between their lightly touching thighs, and looked straight ahead, her breathing slow, deliberate, if not quite relaxed. 

Faith could not be sure what was going on between them, or what Buffy was thinking or feeling. She had no idea why now, of all times, Buffy had started to let down her solid inner walls, to begin for the first time to let Faith, and maybe only Faith, peek behind them. 

All she could truly know was the strangely comforting, soothing feeling of Buffy’s fingers in hers, the uncertainty of where Buffy’s skin and hers were separate and belonging only to themselves. She could feel the calm beginning to sweep over the energy between them, the slow relaxation of Buffy’s body near hers, and the way her body began to unconsciously mirror the other woman’s easing of tension, something close to a fragile peace settling in her mind and heart.

When Buffy’s head gradually drifted over to rest against Faith’s shoulder, Faith took in the weight of her head, the scent of Buffy’s hair close to her nose, and breathed in, her free hand drifting up cautiously to brush back a strand of the girl’s hair. After several seconds, she dared to press her lips lightly against the top of Buffy’s head- a returning gesture of the night before. Although Buffy’s eyes were closed, Faith could tell she was not asleep. She seemed to be soaking up the calm shared between them, perhaps finding as much comfort in their physical closeness as Faith herself was beginning to experience. 

Faith held herself still for the first several minutes of Buffy’s shift closer, fearful of disrupting the energy they carried together in the moment. She fought against the old inner voice urging her to pull back, to put up all the shields and protective defenses she had put around her emotions, around her heart, for so long, to let herself finally truly risk the damage that could be done by easing vigilance and giving trust. They were slow in peeling back, but gradually she relaxed, mentally as well as physically.

She still wanted to know what Buffy was doing, what she intended, what thoughts, if any, were running through the girl’s mind. She wanted to know when or if this would stop, if Buffy would change her mind or come to realize that none of this was worth her effort or time- that she, Faith, was not worth the effort or time to trust or turn to, for anything or anyone, especially Buffy Summers. 

She wanted to tell Buffy to pull back, to go back to the normal and familiar, the expected. She wanted to freeze this moment forever, to beg her not to move, not to hurt her, not to leave, even as she tried to force herself to prepare for the inevitable. 

But Buffy stayed. She stayed, hand in Faith’s, body warm and soft against her side, and slowly, slowly, Faith let herself begin to feel what had always crushed her in her past, what had always brought disappointment, what had never lead to an ending she could count on and find peace in.

Faith Lehane, for the first time in years, allowed herself to hope. 

End


End file.
